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THE   PENANCE   OF   PORTIA  JAMES 


THE  PENANCE 
OF   PORTIA  JAMES 


TASM  A 

AUTHOR   OF 

'UNCLE   PIPER  OF  P/PEK'S  ///EL,"    ''IDT  HER  EARLIES'^ 
youth;'  &'c. 


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SUCCESSOIIS  TO 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

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DEDICATED   TO 
IN  GRATEFUL  RECOGNHION  OF  MUCH  KINDNESS. 


1218551 


THE 

PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Portia  James  had  been  as  good  as  her  word,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  she  had  danced  the 
evening  before — Portia  loved  dancing-^— imtil  the  grey 
dawn  was  actually  creeping  into  the  gas-lit  rooms, 
she  was  standing  only  five  hours  later,  that  is  to  say 
at  eight  o'clock  the  same  morning,  on  the  steps  of 
Burlington  House,  waiting  with  a  few  other  enthu- 
siasts until  the  doors  should  be  opened.  To  face  the 
unsparing  morning  light  after  having  made  what  is 
suggestively  called  a  night  of  it,  is  not  an  experiment 
that  can  be  entered  upon  becomingly  after  the  fresh- 
ness of  youth  is  past.  Portia,  however,  was  still  of 
an  age  to  stand  this  test — and,  what  is  more,  to  come 
out  of  it  triumphantly.  It  was  her  first  season  in 
London.  She  had  abundant  health  ;  pleasure  and 
admiration  seemed  to  act  upon  her  as  stimulants, 
and  though  she  had  never  slept  so  little  or  lived  (in 


5  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

the  sense  that  Hving  may  be  measured  by  keenness 
of  sensation)  so  much  as  hitherto,  she  had  never 
looked  fresher,  younger,  rosier,  or  more  generally 
blooming,  than  upon  this  particular  June  morning, 
as  she  stood  waiting  with  the  thick  catalogue  in  her 
hand,  a  confident  Peri,  outside  the  gates  of  the  par- 
ticular Paradise  she  had  flown  from  her  bed  at  that 
early  hour  to  enter. 

Youth  and  the  morning  were  ever  well  mated.  Did 
not  the  Greeks,  those  wonderful  pantheists,  recognise 
this  truth  when  they  invoked  the  ever-young  Aurora 
to  coax  their  world  into  waking  life  with  the  aid  of 
her  rosy  finger-tips .?  A  certain  young  artist,  who 
was  hardly  as  yet  out  of  the  rapin  stage,  and  who  had 
seen  Portia  a  few  evenings  before  in  the  glory  of  full 
decollete  with  rounded  bust  and  arms  emerging  from 
old-rose  satin — or  something  equally  vague  and 
charming  as  regarded  its  hue — and  who  had  thought 
on  that  occasion  of  Byron's  lines  upon  the  score  of 
beauty, 

"  Mellowed  to  that  tender  light, 
Which  Heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies," 

found  himself  inclined  at  the  present  moment  to  alter 
his  opinion.  He  had  reached  the  Academy  a  little 
before  Portia,  and  had  watched  her  unobserved  as  she 
mounted  the  steps.  His  eye,  accustomed  to  transfer 
to  an  imaginary  canvas  all  that  it  encountered,  took 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  7 

in  every  detail  of  her  appearance  at  a  glance.  The 
misty  background  of  the  London  atmosphere,  which 
looked  as  though  at  least  two  of  the  well-known 
Egyptian  plagues,  to  wit,  the  reign  of  darkness  and 
the  rain  of  blood,  were  struggling  for  supremacy  over 
it — the  simple  explanation  thereof  being  that  the  sun's 
rays  were  striving  to  penetrate  a  threatening  fog — 
gave  the  indefiniteness  of  outline  that  stamps  an  im- 
pressionest  picture  to  her  silhouelte,  as  she  walked. 
Nevertheless,  Harry  Tolhurst,  with  the  divination 
that  comes  of  artistic  training,  was  aware,  as  I  have 
said,  of  all  the  details  of  it.  Portia  had  a  figure  that 
might  have  inspired  a  Swinburnian  rhapsody,  and 
Harry  did  full  justice  to  this  in  his  mind  as  she 
walked  up  the  steps  in  a  tailor-made  Scotch  tweed 
that  sat  closely,  bat  not  tightly,  round  her  ex- 
quisite form.  Her  bright  head  was  covered  with  one 
of  those  patulous  splashes  of  black  lace  that  serve  as 
a  substratum  for  a  garland  of  flowers.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  quite  in  keeping  with  the  tailor-made  dress, 
but  it  harmonised  wonderfully  well  with  the  face  that 
it  framed  ;  and  this  mention  of  her  face  brings  me  to 
the  most  difficult  part  of  my  description,  for  the  face  is 
supposed  by  most  to  be  the  crucial  test  or  criterion 
by  which  beauty  is  to  be  gauged.  Portia,  it  must  be 
owned  at  once,  did  notpossess  what  might  be  called, 
objectively  speaking,  a  beautiful  face.  It  was  a  face 
that  did  not   focus  well,  as  the  photographers  say, 


8  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

and  those  of  her  acquaintances  who  had  only  seen 
her  photograph  were  agreeably  surprised  when  they 
encountered  the  original.  In  the  photographs  the 
face  was  deprived  of  the  very  qualities  that  consti- 
tuted its  principal  charm — namely,  softness  of  colour- 
ing and  mobility  of  expression.  What  is  the  loveliest 
landscape  under  a  grey  sky  compared  with  the  same 
landscape  when  the  clouds  and  the  sunlight  sweep 
across  it,  revealing  a  thousand  unsuspected  charms  ? 
Portia  in  her  photographs  was  the  landscape  on  a  sun- 
less day.  Portia  in  her  own  person  was  the  land- 
scape on  a  day  of  April  showers,  of  summer  storms, 
of  autumn  moons,  of  all  that  makes  inanimate  nature 
live  and  vibrate  with  human  passion.  To  certain 
people,  therefore — to  those  who  could  awake  corre- 
sponding phases  in  her — she  was  subjectively  beauti- 
ful ;  and  for  the  fact  that  her  eyes — of  the  warm  hazel 
that  accompanies  chestnut  hair — were  too  wide  apart ; 
that  her  nose  was  too  short,  or  her  mouth  too  large, 
they  cared  not  one  whit.  Her  eyes,  as  some  of  them 
had  discovered  to  their  cost,  could  "thoroughly 
undo"  them  betimes — and  what  could  the  most 
beautiful  eyes  of  the  most  beautiful  houri  in  an  East- 
ern Paradise  do  more.'' — and  this  without  7?ialice pre- 
pense on  her  part,  for  if  Portia  was  a  coquette  she  was 
not  a  deliberate  one.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  her 
conquests  were  so  serious  and  so  lasting.  Men  took 
her  seriously  in  spite  of  themselves,  and  none,  I  fear 


.      THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  9 

took  her  more  seriously  than  Harry  Tolhurst.  In- 
deed, it  would  have  been  at  variance  with  his  nature 
to  take  her  in  any  other  way,  for  thoui^h  his  vocation 
was  that  of  an  artist,  and  although  he  loved  his 
vocation,  his  actual  bias  was  tovvards  the  austerity 
and  self-renunciation  of  a  therapeutist,  in  the  reli- 
gious application  of  the  term.  Even  as  regarded  his 
art,  he  aimed  at  giving  it  a  transcendental  significance, 
and  nothing  irritated  him  more  than  the  French 
point  of  view  respecting  art  and  literature,  which 
disdains  to  take  account  of  the  subject  that  inspires, 
and  makes  cleverness  of  execution  on  the  one  hand, 
and  perfection  of  literary  form  on  the  other,  its  sole 
criterion  of  praise  or  blame. 

Yet  this  very  young  man — the  very,  in  this  in- 
stance, does  not  point  to  extreme  youth,  for  Harry 
was  approaching  the  thirties — was  led  to  take  an 
interest  in  Miss  James,  in  the  first  instance,  for  the 
entirely  carnal  reason  that  she  had  so  charming  a 
figure.  It  was  as  he  told  himself,  a  legitimate  and 
artistic  interest ;  for  the  pictures  that  he  painted,  and, 
far  beyond  these,  those  he  dreamed  of  painting, 
necessitated  the  frequent  study  of  the  feminine  out- 
line. He  had  first  been  struck  by  Portia's  figure  as 
she  rode  past  him  in  the  park,  the  great  clump  of 
chestnut  hair  that  could  not  be  thrust  under  her  hat 
lending  a  certain  Lady-Godiva-like  association  of 
ideas  to  the  picture  ;  and  he  kept  the  vision  of  it  in 


lO  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

his  mind  until  he  was  introduced  to  her  by  chance  at 
a  Joachim  concert,  at  which  she  was  present  with 
some  special  friends  of  his,  seated,  as  it  happened, 
in  his  close  neighbourhood.  He  never  forgot  the 
harmonies  he  had  heard  on  that  occasion.  For  ever 
after  they  seemed  to  blend  themselves  with  the 
vision  of  Portia  in  her  summer  dress,  as  she  listened 
to  the  heart-searching  music  with  her  eyes  down,  so 
completely  under  the  spell  that,  when  she  raised 
them  at  the  close,  there  were  unconscious  tears 
quivering  on  the  lashes.  He  had  thought  then  that 
such  a  tribute  far  exceeded  the  clamorous  applause  that 
filled  the  hall,  and  had  envied  the  Master  his  power. 
But  Portia's  eyes  were  just  as  speaking  without  the 
tear-drops,  and,  before  the  concert  was  over,  Harry's 
ambition  to  change  places  with  Herr  Joachim  had 
passed  away. 

All  that  had  passed  between  them,  nevertheless, 
on  that  occasion  might  have  been  proclaimed  on  the 
housetops.  So  likewise  might  the  conversation  that 
followed  upon  their  chance  meeting  at  the  house  of  a 
mutual  friend.  This,  however,  proves  nothing.  The 
Chinese,  it  is  said,  make  the  same  word  do  duty  for 
a  hundred  different  meanings,  according  to  the  key 
in  which  they  utter  it ;  and  even  commonplace  Eng- 
lish phrases  put  on  quite  a  new  significance  when 
they  are  pronounced  with  a  certain  inflexion  that 
differentiates  them  from  their  compeers.    Still,  the  fact 


THE  PENA,NCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  1 1 

remains  that  Portia  and  her  admirer  said  nothing  that 
might  not  have  been  taken  down  by  a  shorthand  re- 
porter and  printed  in  a  manual  for  daily  use  in  crowd- 
ed drawing-rooms.     Even  when  she  declared  one  day 
that  it  was  her  firm  intention  to  go  to  the  Academy 
one  of  these  mornings  before  the  doors  were  opened, 
Harry  did  not  venture  to  do  more  than  take  silent  note 
of  the  same.     They  were  not  upon  terms  that  war- 
ranted his  offering  himself  as  a  guide,  but  he  treasured 
the  announcement  in    his  heart,  and  thenceforth,  for 
eight  successive  mornings,  the  policeman  on  duty  at 
the  doors  of  Burlington  House  was  not  more  punctual 
in  his  attendance  than  he.     On  the  ninth  he  had  his 
reward.      Portia,  alone  and  unattended  (this  sequence 
of  words  is  sanctioned  by  custom,  though  for  my  part 
I  have   always  thought  two   of  them  were  de  trop), 
made  her  appearance  in  the  courtyard,  her  face  bright 
with  its  morning  bloom,  not  quite  like  that  of  Shake- 
speare's schoolboy,  and  the  exhilaration  consequent 
upon    having   successfully    achieved  her   escapade. 
She  was  so  far  from  being  bJasee  (we  greatly  need  an 
English  equivalent  for  this  word)  that  she  had  actually 
derived  an  immense  amount  of  enjoyment  from  her 
solitary  drive  down  Knightsbridge  and  Piccadilly  in  a 
hansom  ;  the   heavily-branched,  thickly-leaved  trees 
in  the  Park  looming  through  the  mist  at  an  immeasur- 
able distance,  the  sloping  green  sward  with  the  fat, 


12  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

unshorn  sheep  scattered  over  its  bountiful  surface,  the 
mighty  clubs,  still  and  solemn  as  temples  at  that  early 
hour — even  to  the  opening  shops  and  the  unaccus" 
tomed  aspect  of  the  passers-by,  all  more  or  less  hurry- 
ing on  their  way  to  set  the  work-a-day  world  going — 
everything  she  saw  upon  this  matutinal  drive  was  a 
source  of  admiration  or  amusement  to  her.  The  muf- 
fled influence  upon  sight  and  sound  of  the  embryo  fog 
exercised  a  mysterious  charm  upon  her  imagination. 
Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  that,  in  common  with  most 
of  us,  she  did  not  like  to  withdravi^  her  hand  from  the 
plough  after  she  had  put  it  thereto,  I  believe  she  would 
have  forsworn  the  Academy  that  morning,  and  ex- 
changed the  long  rows  of  mute  pictures  within  its 
walls  for  the  living,  breathing  pictures  outside.  As 
it  was,  and  fortunately,  or  perhaps  ?^wfortunately  for 
Harry,  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  She  dismissed  her  . 
hansom — bestowing,  in  violation  of  feminine  canons, 
a  tip  upon  the  driver  for  the  utterly  inadequate  motive 
that  his  horse  was  black  and  shiny,  and  that  she  had 
derived  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  from  the  con- 
templation of  his  vigorous  action  as  he  trotted  down 
Piccadilly — and  made  her  way  up  the  steps  of  Burling- 
ton House. 


CHAPTER  11. 

To  say  that  Portia  was  surprised  when,  upon 
reaching  the  top,  she  recognised  Harry  Tolhurst  in 
the  tall,  square,  and  somewhat  grave-looking  young 
man  who  took  off  his  hat  as  he  approached  her, 
would  not  be  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth.  Perhaps  it  would  be  safer  to  assume 
that,  if  his  presence  did  not  strike  her  as  owing  its 
cause  to  an  entirely  miraculous  coincidence,  his  ab- 
sence would  not  have  appeared  especially  surprising 
to  her  either. 

In  any  case,  she  thought  it  advisable  to  feign  a 
slight  surprise,  and  to  greet  him  with  a  "What,  jyou 
here  !  "  and  an  almost  imperceptible  elevation  of  the 
eyebrows  (which  latter,  coming  under  the  heading 
of  "pencilled,"  were  one  of  her  strong  points),  as 
though  he  were  the  last  person  whom  she  could  have 
expected,  under  the  circumstances,  to  encounter. 

"I  always  come  at  this  time  when  I  come  at  all," 
he  replied,  thinking  doubtless  of  the  eight  successive 
mornings  during  which  he  had  done  the  pied  degrue 
on  the  steps  of  the  Academy  before  the  doors  were 
opened. 


14  THE  PENANCE   OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"Oh,  then  you  must  know  all  the  pictures  by 
heart,"  said  Portia,  cordially,  "and  you  can  take 
me  straight  to  those  I  am  supposed  to  admire.  I 
hav^e  a  catalogue  here ;  but  it  was  my  brother  who 
marked  it," 

Harry  laughed,  and  his  companion  echoed  the 
laugh.  She  delivered  up  the  book  to  him,  for  which 
he  had  extended  his  hand,  without  accompanying  the 
gesture  by  a  spoken  request.  She  was  conscious  of 
enjoying  the  sense  of  unrestraint  the  early  morning 
meeting  seemed  to  bring  with  it.  It  amused  her  to 
watch  his  face  as  he  scanned  the  catalogue.  The 
brother  to  whom  she  had  referred,  who  was  actually 
her  step-brother,  and  some  seven-and-twenty  years 
older  than  herself,  had  brought  his  own  unaided 
judgment  to  bear  upon  his  selection  of  the  pictures 
that  were  to  guide  his  little  sister's  taste  ;  and  the 
result  seemed  to  furnish  a  certain  amount  of  inward 
amusement  to  her  friend,  which  •was  plainly  reflected 
in  his  face.  The  Philistine  point  of  view  is  indeed  a 
never-failing  source  of  mirth  to  the  adept,  when  it 
does  not  irritate  him — a  fact,  however,  which  does 
not  prevent  certain  cliques  of  artists  from  demolish- 
ing certain  other  opposing  cliques.  For  it  is  not  only 
doctors  who  differ,  as  the  saying  has  it,  for  the  con- 
fusion of  the  uninitiated,  but  apostles  of  every  calling 
and  every  pretension  under  the  sun.  Otherwise, 
where  would  be  the  point  in  Pilate's  famous  question  .? 


THE  rE NANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  15 

Portia  was  in  no  wise  offended  by  her  friend's 
amused  expression.  Truth  to  tell,  she  would  have 
liked  to  see  it  upon  his  face  a  little  oftcner.  Its  habit- 
ual cast  was  set  in  too  severe  a  mould.  He  had 
excessively  dark,  deep-set  eyes,  and  their  normal 
aspect  was  of  those  of  a  man  who  broods.  The 
complexion  was  sallow,  and  would  have  suggested 
liver  to  the  materially  disposed.  The  mouth  was  in 
a  great  measure  concealed  under  a  drooping  black 
moustache  ;  but  its  lines,  as  far  as  could  be  seen, 
were  indicative  of  a  somewhat  cheerless  disposition 
of  mind.  One  could  almost  imagine  that  the  sable- 
coloured  eyes  and  hair  had  given  their  hue  to  the 
temperament.  When  this  chronic  gloom  gave  way 
to  a  rare  smile,  the  effect  was  like  that  of  intense 
sunlight  against  the  background  of  an  inky  sky, 
which,  as  everyone  knows,  has  an  irradiating  effect 
upon  the  landscape.  Harry's  smile  was  almost  a 
revelation  to  Portia.  Her  appreciation  of  it  inclined 
her  to  see  the  pictures  under  his  guidance  with  quite 
a  new  zest ;  and,  the  doors  being  opened,  they 
passed  in  together  upon  the  easy  footing  of  a  pair  of 
old  friends,  instead  of  that  of  two  young  people  who 
were  hovering  upon  the  brink  of  a  flirtation.  The 
catalogue  remained  in  Harry's  hands,  definitely 
closed. 

"But  you  might  mark  a  fresh  lot,"  said  Portia, 
pleadingly.      "  I'm  sure  to  mix  up  the  pictures  you 


1 6  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

show  me  with  those  my  brother  wanted  me  to  see. 
Don't  you  think  any  of  them  were  worth  marking, 
then  ? " 

"  Not  any  that  I  have  seen  so  far,"  said  Harry, 
frankly.     Whereat  they  both  laughed  again. 

"  Poor  Wilmer,"  said  Portia.  (Wilmer,  originally 
a  baptismal  name,  had  become  the  prefix  by  which 
her  elder  brother's  name  of  plain  James  had  become 
converted  into  that  of  Wilmer-James.)  "  As  long  as 
I  remember  him — even  when  we  were  living  in  the 
bush  out  in  Australia,  you  know — he  used  to  talk 
about  Claudes  and  Ruysdaels  as  though  he  knew  all 
about  them.  I  had  the  profoundest  belief  in  his 
knowledge  until  we  came  home  ;  but  I  have  lost 
faith  in  so  many  things  since  then." 

"  He  has  a  kind  of  a  picture-gallery,  hasn't  he?" 
said  Harry,  in  tones  that  were  alike  doubtful  and 
encouraging. 

"Yes  ;  he  has  a  kind  of  a  one,"  repeated  Portia, 
briskly ;  then  with  a  wicked  look  in  her  eyes, 
"principally  old  masters." 

"Old  masters!"  Harry's  tone  wafe  distinctly 
sceptical.      "All  his  own  selection,  I  suppose.-*" 

"  Yes,  all !  "  Here  Portia's  voice  betrayed  the 
triumph  she  felt.  "Ruysdaels  and  Claudes — those 
are  his  favourites.  He  went  over  to  the  Hotel  Dieu 
last  week  for  a  sale,  and  he  brought  back  a  Claude 
about   that   big " — (there  were   vestiges    of  colonial 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  17 

looseness  of  expression  in  Portia's  conversation  that 
occasionally  disconcerted  her  hearers) — "just  about, 
I  should  think  " — she  indicated  a  space  of  some  half- 
yard  square  with  her  hands  as  sKe  spoke.  "I  was 
told  that  the  thing  to  admire  in  it  was  a  kind  of 
coppery  glow  ;  and  I  coiild  see  that,"  doubtfully  ; 
"but  then  I  could  see  nothing  else.  Would jfow 
admire  such  a  picture,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it  first,"  said  Harry  guardedly. 
He  was  thinking  that  a  private  view,  under  Portia's 
guidance,  of  the  remarkable  gallery  of  the  "old- 
master  "-bitten  Australian  would  be  a  charming  sequel 
to  their  walk  round  the  Academy  this  morning. 

"  Would  you }  I'm  sure  Wilmer  would  be  delighted 
to  show  it  you,  then, "  declared  Portia,  innocently. 
"But  now  let  us  set  to  work.  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
have  the  courage  to  tell  you  what  pictures  I  like. 
You  can  always  tell  me  why  I  shouldn't  and 
mustn't." 

"  I  dare  say  you  should  and  must  most  of  the  time. 
I  have  a  great  belief  in  your  natural  instincts  as 
regards  art-* — " 

"Like  Wilmer,"  she  interrupted  him.  "  Only  it's 
not  art,  but  wine.  He  will  insist  on  making  me 
taste  his  old  '  cru  ' — doesn't  that  sound  learned.'' — 
and  the  Australian  wines  he  gets  from  his  Yarraman 
vines.  He  says  wine  should  be  judged  by  a  pure, 
unvitiated  palate  ;  and  somehow — it's  very  funny — 
but  I  do  generally  manage  to  guess  right." 


1 8  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

All  this  time  Harry  had  been  leading  her  through 
rooms  Nos.  i  and  2,  with  never  a  pause  on  the  way. 
Portia  was  vaguely  aware  of  canvases  bright  with 
brilliant  sea-shores,  and  green  rivers  whereon  white- 
robed  damsels  were  afloat  in  greener  boats.  She 
would  have  liked  to  stop  before  some  of  these,  but 
he  led  her  on  relentlessly  until  he  brought  her  up  be- 
fore a  portrait  by  Herkomer,  which  he  bade  her  look 
at  and  tell  him  what  she  thought  of  it.  Portia,  was 
interested  at  once. 

"But  then  there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the 
model,"  she  observed,  after  she  had  admired  it  with 
unaffected  heartiness.  "One  would  say  there  was 
such  a  straightforward  soul  looking  through  those 
eyes,  wouldn't  one  }  That  must  make  it  much  easier, 
I  should  think,  for  an  artist." 

'  '■  Much  easier, "  assented  Harry.  ' '  A  true  portrait- 
painter  finds  himself  in  the  position  of  a  kind  of  in- 
voluntary Father  Confessor.  But  I  wasn't  thinking 
so  much  of  the  expression  as  the  work, " 

And  thereupon  he  entered  into  considerations  of 
drawing,  and  colouring,  and  technique,  which,  being 
all  new  to  Portia,  gave  her  the  sensation  of  being  led 
to  the  threshold  of  some  vast  vniexplored  region, 
peopled  with  ideal  ])resentments  of  all  the  persons 
and  objects  she  encountered  in  her  everyday  life. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  been  born  an  artist,"  she 
said  enthusiastically,  after  nearly  two  hours — she  had 


THE  PENANCE  OF  POKTIA  JAMES.  iq 

forgotten  all  about  the  limits  of  her  leave  of  absence 
by  this  time — had  been  spent  in  going  from  picture 
to  picture  at  Harry's  bidding.  "You  must  find  your 
life  very  full  and  happy  always." 

"  Indeed  I  don't.  It  is  the  life  of  a  Sisyphus,  for 
the  most  part.  What,  are  you  going  away  already? 
Well,  there  is  just  one  little  painting  I  should  hke  you 
to  see  before  you  go.  I  won't  give  you  any  opinion 
about  it.  I  want  to  know  whether  you  like  it  your- 
self." 

His  voice  sounded  nervous  and  hurried,  and  Portia 
was  perfectly  aware  that  the  picture  she  was  expected 
to  be  honest  about  was  his  own.  She  hoped  in  her 
heart  she  would  like  it.  Without  establishing  the 
standard  laid  down  in  the  novels  of  the  Flowery  Em- 
pire for  the  regulation  of  the  affections  which  makes 
Passion  dependent  upon  the  proficiency  in  classic 
lore  of  the  adored  object,  she  could  not  help  feeling 
that  she  would  like  Mr.  Tolhurst  better  if  his  work 
appealed  to  her  sympathies.  But  when  she  finally 
found  herself  confronted  with  it,  she  was  obliged  to 
admit  that  the  first  impression  was  one  of  bewilder- 
ment and  non-comprehension.  Harry  had  chosen 
for  his  theme  the  hackneyed  subject — old  as  the  sea- 
sons, and  young  as  spring-time — of  the  Madonna  and 
Child.  To  Portia,  who  had  never  seen  Munkacsy's 
"Christ  before  Pilate,"  nor  "  The  Last  Supper"  of 
Uhde,  with  its   wondrous  stamp  of  mystic  realism, 


20  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES, 

there  was  something  so  unaccustomed  in  the  modern 
treatment  of  the  theme  that  she  was  aghast.  The 
Madonna  was  a  young  woman  in  flesh  and  blood 
like  herself — of  a  commoner  type — "only  so  viiich 
handsomer,"  she  added  mentally — and  the  expression 
in  her  dark  eyes  was  rather  one  of  wistful  pride  than 
of  confident  glorification.  She  had  working  fingers, 
and  the  hands  which  held  the  child  on  her  lap  had 
evidently  known  manual  labour.  Portia  could  not 
appreciate  the  conscientious  execution  of  the  Jewish 
garb  in  white  and  blue,  for  all  her  interest  was  cen- 
tered upon  the  manner  in  which  the  faces  had  been 
treated.  The  picture  of  the  child — a  realistic  present- 
ment of  an  eighteen-months-old  infant,  with  curiously 
solemn,  prominent  blue  eyes — seemed  to  arrest  her 
attention.  After  a  long  and  puzzled  pause,  she  turned 
her  face  towards  her  companion.  Harry  had  never 
seen  it  look  so  grave  before. 

"Well.'*"  he  said  interrogatively — there  had  been 
many  people  in  front  of  the  picture  when  they  had 
first  approached  it,  but  now  the  place  was  vacant 
—  "what  do  you  make  of  it .?  " 

"I  can  hardly  say,"  answered  Portia — her  voice 
had  a  little  tremor  in  it.  "I  am  going  through  such  a 
curious  experience.  How  or  where  I  cannot  say — 
but  I  have  seen  something  like  that  picture  before. 
I  have  seen  it  or  I  have  dreamed  it.  Don't  you 
know  what  it  is  to  meet  a  face  in  the  street  that  re- 


THE  rE NANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  21 

calls  some  other  face  ?  you  cannot  tell  whose?  Or 
to  have  the  impression  of  a  dream  when  you  wake 
in  the  morning  that  you  can  never,  never  lay  hold 
of?  That  is  how  I  feel  in  front  of  your  picture.  It 
makes  me  almost  fancy  that  I  have  stood  here  with 
you  before,  and  that  I  know  what  you  are  going-  to 
say.  I  am  afraid  it  prevents  me  from  looking  at  it 
properly.  ...  It  is  very  good,  though,  isn't  it !  " — 
she  added  hurriedly  and  demurely. 

For  all  reply  Harry  was  rude  enough  to  laugh.  He 
laughed  so  genuinely  and  with  such  thorough  en- 
joyment that  Portia,  somewhat  abashed,  laughed  too. 
What  was  more,  he  did  not  even  excuse  himself  for 
his  laughter.  But  it  was  impossible  to  be  offended 
by  it,  for  the  reason  that  it  conveyed  a  subtle  assur- 
ance that  whatever  she  had  said  to  move  it,  far  from 
being  displeasing  to  him,  was  something  that  had 
only  drawn  him  closer  to  her.  In  an  instant,  how- 
ever, he  had  become  grave  again.  "  You  ask  me  if 
it  is  very  good — well,  no.  To  give  you  my  candid 
opinion,  I  think  it  is  very  bad.  I  am  sorry  I  exposed 
it,  as  the  French  call  it.  But  what  you  say  about 
your  being  reminded  of  something  you  have  seen 
before  is  a  puzzle  to  me.  I  believe  you  are  one  of 
the  most  truthful  persons  I  ever  met — no,  I  don't 
jump  at  conclusions — but  I  have  watched  you  as  you 
looked  at  the  pictures,  and  I  am  sure  of  what  I  say 
— yet  you  can't  have  seen  anything  like  this  before. 
The  picture  has  never  been  out  t)f  my  studio." 


22  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"I  can't  account  for  it  either,"  said  Portia,  plaint- 
ively ;  "but  the  feeling  is  there,  all  the  same.  And 
what  is  the  most  uncomfortable,  it  suggests  some- 
thing unhappy.  How  I  wish  I  could  explain  it.  Do 
you  believe  in  spirits  and  all  that  kind  of  thing  ?  " 

"Believe  there  are  things  undreamed  of  in  our 
philosophy  ?  Of  course  I  do.  Everyone  who  thinks 
at  all  must  believe  that  much." 

"Then  you  think  an  impression  like  this  one  of 
mine  may  have  something  in  it }  " 

She  put  the  question  anxiously,  for  the  vague  fore- 
boding that  had  come  upon  her  as  her  eyes  first  en- 
countered the  picture  seemed  to  gain  in  consistence 
as  she  looked  more  closely  into  jt.  The  prominent 
blue  orbs  of  the  child,  with  their  unabashed  infant 
gaze,  threatened  to   haunt  her  in  the  days  to  come. 

"What  can  it  mean.?"  she  said  again,  without 
waiting  for  Harry's  reply.  No  one  could  give  a 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  mystery,  which  was,  after 
all,  entirely  a  subjective  one.  But  as  she  parted  from 
her  companion  at  the  outer  gate  of  Burlington  House, 
in  the  midst  of  the  later  fashionable  throng,  her  erst- 
while joyousness  seemed  to  have  departed  from  her. 
He  reproached  himself  with  having  allowed  her  to 

over-tire  herself. 

"You  went  at  the  pictures  with  all  the  zeal  of  a 
neophyte,"  he  said,  "and  I  never  thought  of  hold- 
ing you  back.  You  should  have  told  me  you  were 
getting  tired." 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  23 

"Oh,  but  I  wasn't  indeed,"  she  assured  him 
eagerly.  "  I  did  enjoy  seeing  them  so  much,  un- 
til  "  she  stopped  short,  and  gave  vent  to  her  emo- 
tion in  a  half-hysterical  little  laugh.  "  I'm  afraid 
you  must  think  me  so  awfully  silly " 

"What,  1.?  Think_yo«  silly!  Oh,  my  dear  Miss 
James  !  " 

He  stopped  suddenly  ;  annoyed  at  the  weakness  of 
his  own  disclaimer.  Yet  what  was  he  to  do?  The 
very  longing  that  beset  him  to  say  so  much  more 
than  he  had  any  warrant  for  saying  seemed,  in  bib- 
lical phrase,  to  place  a  bridle  on  his  tongue  and 
check  his  utterance  ;  and  the  parting  between  the 
two  was  so  formal  that  no  one  could  have  suspected 
that  he  was  actually  carrying  away  a  corner  of  Por- 
tia's heart  that  morning,  leaving  Heaven  knows  how 
large  a  share  of  his  own  behind  him  in  exchange. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Hurrying  back  to  Waratah  Lodge,  whereby  the 
Kensington  abode  of  Wihner  James,  standing  in  its 
own  quarter  of  an  acre  of  garden,  was  known, 
Portia  found  there  would  be  only  time  to  get  into 
later-day  trim  before  luncheon.  Her  room,  over- 
looking a  riotous  rose-bud,  was  a  pleasant  place  to 
fritter  away  the  time  in.  There  were  mirrors  in 
white-enamel  frames  that  multiplied  her  figure  in  all 
manner  of  unconsciously-becoming  poses,  and  a 
square,  low,  Liberty-draped  couch  that  might  have 
inclined  the  most  prosaic  to  maiden  meditation  of  a 
pleasantly-dreamy  description.  The  porcelain  blues 
and  whites  of  carpet  and  curtains — the  yellow  fever 
of  decoration  had  not  as  yet  broken  out  in  every 
household — were  suggestive  of  coolness  and  cleanli- 
ness. A  white,  pagoda-shaped  cage,  containing  two 
budgery-guards,  that  Portia  had  brought  all  the  way 
from  her  bush-home — a  cage  large  enough  to  allow 
the  love-sick  Hebraic-looking  little  birds  to  play  at 
pursuing  each  other  through  space  after  a  period  of 
unlimited   fondling — stood   upon    a   tabic    near    the 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  25 

window.  The  bed  in  the  corner,  under  its  soft  con- 
ceahncnt  of  blue  and  white  crinkly  curtains,  became 
an  unobtrusive  appendage  to  the  rest  of  the  furniture 
in  a  room  of  such  ample  dimensions.  The  pretty 
trifles  that  are  set  forth  in  the  West  End  shops  every 
succeeding  season,  with  a  view  to  exciting  a  con- 
flagration in  the  pockets  of  those  whose  money  is 
popularly  supposed  to  "burn"  therein,  were  not 
wanting  in  Portia's  room.  The  "chastest"  china 
set — (will  not  the  eighteenth-century  use  of  this  ad- 
jective, which,  according  to  dictionary  authorities, 
should  only  be  applied  to  a  rosiere  or  a  word,  be 
something  of  a  stumbling-block  to  philologists  of  the 
future }) — the  chastest  china-set,  I  say,  adorned  her 
five-o'clock  tea-table.  There  was  a  minature  cuckoo- 
clock  on  the  draped  mantle-piece,  and  white  and 
gold  book-shelves  bore  a  heterogeneous  assemblage 
of  the  latest  novels,  poems,  and  nondescript  speci- 
mens of  the  generally  talked-about  order  of  literature. 
Portia's  tastes  were  nothing  if  not  eclectic,  and  when 
she  found  the  time  to  read,  which  was  not  very  often, 
she  could  take  up  with  equal  appreciation  a  chap- 
ter of  Aurora  Leigh  or  the  latest  delightfully  extra- 
vagant American  absurdity.  I  have  no  desire  to  fur- 
nish in  this  connection  a  complete  catalogue  of  all  her 
possessions,  but  the  one  object  in  her  room  that  she 
would  not  have  allowed  us  to  overlook  was  her  writ- 
ing-table, made  to  order  in  celebration  of  her  twenty- 


26  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

first  birthday,  by  her  brother's  command — a  munifi- 
cent gift,  for  he  had  himself  discovered  (and  knew 
what  he  had  paid  for  it)  the  authentic  Wouvermans 
enshrined  in  the  hd.  For  the  further  protection  of  the 
precious  memento,  Wilmer  had  designed  a  square 
cover,  like  an  inverted  box,  which  was  placed  over  the 
writing-table  when  it  was  not  in  use,  and  which  gave 
it  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  Singer's  sewing- 
machine.  This,  indeed,  was  the  normal  aspect  it 
presented,  for  Portia  found  it  easier  to  scribble  off 
her  correspondence  at  an  unassuming  white-cnamel- 
painted  table,  whereon  her  huvard,  in  old-stamped 
leather,  found  its  resting-place.  On  the  day  of  her 
return  from  the  Academy,  however,  her  eyes  were 
instantly  attracted  to  the  writing-table  by  the  sight 
of  a  magnificent  bunch  of  flowers  lying  upon  the 
sewing-machine  lid,  made  up  of  all  manner  of 
blooms  in  season  and  out  of  season.  But  it  was 
not  the  costly  charm  of  speckled  orchids  or  scentless 
camellias  that  attracted  her  gaze.  It  was  the  sight 
of  an  assemblage  of  yellow-beaded  mimosa-branches, 
with  blossoms  of  such  an  amazing  quality  of  thick 
fluffiness  that  the  almond-scent  they  scattered  around 
them  seemed  to  permeate  all  the  air.  As  she  beheld 
these  flowers,  Portia's  face  gathered  a  new  and 
singular  expression.  The  charming  London  room, 
with  its  wealth  of  so-called  art  equipments,  its 
Bond   Street   bibelots    and   veiled    London    atmos- 


THE  PENANCE    OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  27 

|)|iere,  all  melted  away.  She  was  riding  across 
tlie  far-away  Australian  plains  on  a  Spring  day  in 
September,  and  around  and  above  her  the  dark 
wattle-trees  were  shining  in  their  gold-spanglcd 
robes.  She  could  see  again  the  vision  of  a  man's 
face  next  to  hers,  moving  up  and  down  with  the  horse's 
trot — the  reddish  beard  and  moustache  concealing  lips 
that  had  a  curious  trick  of  appearing  to  be  for  ever 
engaged  in  the  action  of  tasting,  when  he  was  not 
making  use  of  them  in  speech  ;  the  sanguine  hue  of 
the  hairy  cheeks,  and  the  blue  eyes  set,  as  the 
French  express  it,  a  fleur  de  tete.  She  could  see  her- 
self, a  "mere  slip  of  a  girl,"  with  a  massive  plait 
hanging  down  her  back,  the  end  trailing  over  the 
saddle,  listening  to  the  man's  words  as  he  sought 
to  make  her  understand  that,  child  as  she  was 
at  that  time,  she  was  yet  the  one  maid  in  all  the 
world  for  him.  She  had  believed  what  he  had  said 
then,  and  she  was  fain  to  believe  it  now.  She 
had  imagined  in  those  days  that  the  exultant  sense 
of  being  a  power  in  the  world,  of  carrying  some 
potent  magic  about  with  her,  that  this  first  wooing 
had  brought  with  it  (as,  indeed,  a  first  wooing 
brings  in  every  case),  was  the  going-out  of  her 
heart  in  response  to  the  appeal  she  had  heard. 
'With  the  wattle-blooms  for  sole  witnesses  she  had 
allowed  the  face  so  near  her  to  come  yet  nearer  still. 
The  horse's  flanks  were  rubbing  against  each  other, 


28  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

and  an  arm  had  pressed  itself  close  around  the  body 
of  her  little  holland  habit,  as  they  went  at  a  walking 
pace.  The  red-bearded  face  had  been  on  a  level  with 
her  own  now — John  Morrisson,  truth  to  tell,  was  a 
head  and  shoulders  taller  than  she,  but  women  ride 
higher  than  men — and  the  ever-tasting  lips  had  been 
suffered  at  last  to  feed  upon  her  own.  She  had  even 
allowed  him  to  pull  up  the  little  gauze  veil  that  pro- 
tected her  against  the  Australian  sun  and  the  Austra- 
lian flies,  and  this  first  kiss  had  been  understood  to 
signify  the  seal  of  her  betrothal.  Well,  she  had  been 
young  enough  then,  in  all  conscience,  to  make  so 
solemn  an  engagement  ;  but  John,  who  was  at  least 
twenty  years  older,  had  held  her  to  it.  He  was  her 
step-brother's  partner,  but  neither  of  the  men  had  as 
yet  developed  the  Midas-like  faculty  they  afterwards 
acquired  of  turning  all  they  touched  into  gold.  Por- 
tia's engagement — she  was  only  sixteen — was  never- 
theless interpreted  as  a  serious  obligation  by  the 
head  of  the  house,  and  nothing  but  her  own  passion- 
ate pleading  that  she  should  not  be  married  until  she 
was  twenty-one  had  saved  her  from  becoming  that 
saddest  of  sacramental  victims,  a  child  wife.  The 
following  year  the  great  silver  discovery  had  been 
made.  John  Morrisson  was  credited  with  the  first 
preception  of  the  marvellous  possibilities  concealed 
under  a  strip  of  Queensland  bush,  but  Wilmer  James 
had  been  the  one  to  secretly  test  the  ore,  and  to  bring 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  29 

the  wondrous  discovery  to  a  head.  To  wake  and 
find  ourselves  famous  is,  perhaps,  a  more  frequent 
experience  in  these  days  of  rapid  reputations  than  to 
wake  and  find  ourselves  millionaires.  This,  was,  how- 
ever, the  wonderful  fate  that  befell  Portia's  brother 
and  his  partner.  Within  a  couple  of  years  of  the  dis- 
covery, they  were  rich  in  the  eternally-quoted  John- 
sonian sense  of  the  word.  Wilmer  had  brought  his 
wife  and  step-sister  to  England.  John  had  remained 
to  superintend  the  carrying  on  ofthe  great  silver-mine 
operations,  or,  in  Australian  parlance,  to  "boss  the 
concern."  It  was  understood  that  he  should  not 
appear  upon  the  horizon — Portia's  horizon,  that  was 
to  say — until  she  had  completed  her  twenty-first 
year.  She  was  within  eighteen  months  of  it  at  the 
time  of  her  sailing. 

The  period  of  European  travelling  that  followed, 
during  which  Wilmer  had  struck  out  wildly  in  the 
direction  of  Claudes  and  Ruysdaels,  the  furnishing 
of  the  Kensington  house,  and  the  first  experience  of 
a  real  London  season — all  these  had  represented  a 
dream  of  delight  to  Portia.  Why  did  the  dream  seem 
to  be  checked  by  a  rude  awakening  this  mornings  as 
she  looked  at  the  wattle-blooms  that  greeted  her  so 
unexpectedly,  and  read  in  their  golden  blobs  the 
mute  message  that  John  Morrisson  had  come  home? 
Come  home  !  Come,  then,  to  claim  his  promise. 
Come  for  her  I    The  recollection  ofthe  free  and  happy 


tp  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

experience  of  her  morning  among  the  pictures  rushed 
into  her  mind,  and  with  it,  and  against  it,  and  min- 
gled in  some  incomprehensible  way  with  the  image 
of  John  himself,  the  vision  of  the  picture  of  Harry's 
Madonna  and  Child  flashed  through  her  brain.  Had 
the  picture,  then,  brought  her  a  presentiment  of  her 
approaching  fate  ?  What  possible  network  of  discon- 
nected ideas  could  have  entangled  the  Madonna  and 
her  Child  and  John  Morrisson  in  the  sa/ne  meshes  ! 
"I  should  go  mad  if  I  were  toattempt  to  make  sense 
of  it,"  said  Portia — I  am  not  sure  that  in  her  thoughts, 
for  she  spoke  to  herself,  she  did  not  say,  to  "  make 
head  or  tail  of  it  " — and  thereupon  she  made  her  way 
towards  tj>e  flowers  with  a  gait  quite  unlike  the  one 
that  had  beep  remarked  by  Harry  Tolhurst  on 
the  steps  of  the  Academy  only  a  few  hours  pre- 
viously. She  was  l^olding  the  flowers  up  to  her  face 
— livattle-blossoms  were,  in  any  c,ase,  objectively 
lovely,  no  matter  through  what  channel  they  reached 
her — v^hen  the  door  was  opened  from  outside,  after 
it  had  been  smartly  tapped  upon,  by  someone  who 
did  not  even  wait  for  her  to  say  "Come  in." 

Portia  turned  her  head  with  the  dignity  of  an 
offend.ed  queen,  but  her  lips  relaxed  into  a  smile  as 
she  recog'nised  the  large  Teutonic  face  of  her  sister- 
in-law,  with  grey  frisettes  surmounting  her  forehead 
and  the  fixed  red  upon  the  high  cheek-bones  that 
advancing  years,  rather  than  the  rouge-pot,  had  placed 


THE  PENAffCE  t/F  FO/iTfA  JAMES.  31 

there.  Mrs.  James  had  found  favour  in  her  lord's 
sight  some  thirty  years  previously,  at  a  period  when 
youth  had  condoned  the  unattested  mould  of  her 
features.  She  had  been  engaged  in  the  task  of  bring- 
ing up  the  daughters  of  a  neighbouring  squatter  in 
guttural  German-English  and  the  belief  that  Goethe 
w^as  the  light  of  the  world,  when  Mr.  James  married 
her,  so  to  speak,  off  hand.  Eligible  brides  were  rare 
upon  the  Lachlan  in  those  days.  Mrs.  James  proved 
herself  as  good  a  Haus-frau  as  she  had  been  a  wor- 
shipper of  Goethe,  and  when,  some  fifteen  years  later, 
her  husband's  orphaned  step-sister  Was  sent  up  to 
him  from  Melbourne  for  protection,  she  took  the  little 
creature  to  her  heart  in  the  place  of  the  child  she 
would  fain  have  borne  him,  and  brought  her  up  with 
tender  care  according  to  her  lights.  Mr.  James  did 
not  Understand  German,  and  I  fear  Portia's  knowl- 
edge of  it  did  not  extend  very  far  beyond  the  "Ach 
Gotts,"  "Gott  in  Himmels,"  and  "  So's,"  that  she 
heard  her  step-sister  utter  a  hundred  times  a  day. 
Since  her  sudden  accession  to  wealth  Mrs.  James  had 
resuscitated  a  legend  that  had  been  almost  forgotten 
during  her  active  existence  of  squatter's  helpmate  in 
the  Australian  wilds — a  legend  whereby  the  stock 
whence  she  came  vv ci.s  adelig,  and  she  herself,  as  well 
as  her  sisters,  cousins,  and  aunts,  were  adelig  like- 
wise. Portia  heard  for  the  first  time  of  her  step- 
sister's   uncle — -a  Rittmeister    von    something — who 


31  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

had  married  the  daughter  of  a  Graf.  It  had  been 
always  understood  that  they  should  see  these  great 
people  when  they  came  to  Europe  ;  but  beyond  a 
visit  to  a  stuffy  pension,  conducted  by  the  Ritt- 
meister's  widowed  daughter,  nothing  had  come  of 
it.  Mrs.  James  had  explained  that  no  one  who  was 
not  adelig  was  allowed  to  become  an  inmate  of  the 
establishment,  and  Portia  had  noticed  that  a  coronet 
was  insinuated  into  all  the  crochet-worked  antima- 
cassars that  encumbered  the  sad-looking  reception- 
room.  On  the  other  hand,  the  furniture  was  terribly 
threadbare,  and  there  was  a  pungent  aroma  of  bier- 
suppe  from  the  kitchen,  which,  coupled  with  an  utter 
absence  of  ventilation  in  the  sitting-room,  inspired 
Portia  (though  she  did  not  say  so  to  her  stepmother) 
with  a  prevention — prejudice,  perhaps,  would  be  too 
strong  a  word — against  all  that  was  adelig  in  the 
German  sense.  In  England,  in  the  beautiful  Ken- 
sington mansion,  Mrs.  James  gave  the  reins  to  her 
fancy  in  another  direction.  She  had  always  been 
economical  in  her  dress — in  Germany  she  had  clothed 
herself  in  her  youthful  days  upon  eighty-five  marks 
a  year.  But  now  she  developed  a  truly  Oriental 
imagination  as  regarded  the  trailing  glories  of  her 
attire.  She  would  array  her  portly  body  in  robes 
that  the  Queen  of  Sheba  might  have  worn,  and,  the 
silver  mine  being  apparently  inexhaustible,  she  cul- 
tivated a  taste  for  old  lace  as  a  pendant  to  her  hus- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  33 

band's  taste  for  old  masters,  with  at  least  a  like 
success. 

Her  hasty  entrance  into  Portia's  room  this  morning 
was  with  the  obvious  motive,  first,  of  imparting  some 
startling  piece  of  news,  and,  secondly,  dazzling  her 
vision  by  her  appearance  in  a  gorgeous  gown  of 
peacock  blue,  with  a  trimming  that  looked  like  the 
encrusted  bands  of  jewels  that  adorned  the  gowns  of 
Byzantine  empresses.  But  there  was  a  kind  heart 
under  the  glittering  adornments.  Beholding  a  cer- 
tain distressful  look  in  Portia's  eyes,  after  the  smile 
had  died  out  of  them,  Mrs.  James  plumped  down 
into  a  chair,  with  a  gesture  not  quite  consistent  with 
her  mediaeval  magnificence,  and  said,  with  deep- 
voiced  sympathy — 

"  Ach  meine  Liebe !  wherefore  art  thou  sad?  " 

"  I'm  not  sad,  "  said  Portia,  hastily  ;  she  put  the 
flowers  away  from  her  as  she  spoke  ;  then,  with  a 
sudden,  inconsistent  change  of  demeanour,  she  turned 
her  face  towards  the  elder  woman.  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears.  "  Oh,  Emma  !  what  shall  I  do  !  "  she 
cried  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  Liebchen  !  Herzchen  !  "  the  incrusted  trimming, 
with  its  aggressive  irregularities,  forbade  the  warm- 
hearted Emma  from  pressing  the  young  girl's  head 
to  her  heart,  but  she  stood  up  and  kissed  her  and  led 
her  to  the  confessional  couch,  and  taking  the  cold 
young    hands   into   her   own,    which    were    of    an 


34  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

uncompromising-ly  beefy  hue,  but  warm  and  sympa- 
thising withal,  she  said  :  "  Now  !  you  will  bore  out 
your  heart  to  me,  Liebchen,'"  and  so  waited  for  her 
to  speak. 

To  put  a  dramatic  sentiment  into  fitting  words 
with  a  large,  fat,  expectant  face  hjoking  anxiously 
into  yours,  is  not  always  an  easy  matter.  Portia 
felt  a  strong  mclination  to  laugh,  though  at  heart  she 
was  in  no  laughing  mood.  She  compromised  matters 
by  covering  her  face  with  her  disengaged  hand,  as 
she  murmured  weakly  :  "I  don't  like  the  thought 
of  leaving  you  and  Wilmer,  Emma.  This  year  ha!s 
flown  by  so,  and  you  see  there — I  have  my  sum- 
mons." 

She  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  magnificeilt 
flowers  scattered  over  the  cover  of  the  writing-table. 
The  wattle-blossoms  lay  with  their  rich  yellow  down 
uppermost,  and  Emma  knew  just  what  they  signi- 
fied. 

"  Ach  !  he  is  so  fond  of  you,"  she  whispered  ;  the 
idea  that  Portia  was  casting  about  for  a  possible 
means  of  gaining  time,  and  deferring  the  fulfilment 
of  her  promise  (she  dared  not  think  yet  of  breaking 
it  rdtogether),  never  seemed  to  occur  to  her.  "  He 
will  be  by  us  to-day  at  lunch  " — prepositions  Had 
never  been  able  to  take  their  relative  places  in  the 
English  sense  in  "Pmma's  brain. 

"At  lunch!  "  repealed  Portia,  in  tones  that  savoured 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  ac 

more  of  terror  than  of  rapture.  "  Then  you  have 
seen  him  already.  What  does  he  look  like  ?  What 
did  he  say .?  " 

"He said,  '  I  go  not  away  until  I  have  seen  her, 
Now,  it  was  to  tell  you  he  waits  below,  I  must  run 
80  rash  into  you  room  awhile  ago.  Ach  I  how  white 
you  look  then,  my  treasure.  Golt  in  HimmeU  one 
would  say  you  were  even  disposing  yourself  to  faint." 

"  Nonsettse  !  I  never  fainted  in  my  life."  Portia's 
tone  had  taken  a  sudden  resolve,  but  the  fact  that  the 
blood  had  fled  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  them>  for 
an  instant,  of  an  unnatural  whiteness,  wa9  incon- 
testable. ''  He  is  below,  you  say.  I  will  go  tb  him 
at  once.      Is  he  alone.?" 

Mrs.  James  nodded  signficantly.  "  In  the  library 
—there  awaits  he  alone  your  coming.     Now         " 

But  Portia  was  gone  before  she  could  say  more. 
The  black-lace,  flowered-wreathed  hat  was  thrown 
aside,  and  she  Was  running  swiftly  down  the  broad, 
heavily-carpeted  stairs.  A  sudden  and  desperate 
resolution  had  seized  her  while  her  sister-in^-lav^  had 
beet!  talking.  Alas  !  that  our  "high  resolves "  should 
be  so  difficult  of  execution.  By  the  time  her  fingers 
were  on  the  handle  of  the  library  door,  her  courage 
was  oozing  out  at  the  tips  of  them.  After  all,  what 
possible  pretext  could  she  advance  for  becoming  a 
renegade  from  her  word  !  Had  she  not  come  to 
Europe  in  the  character  of  an  engaged  girl  ?    Did  not 


36  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

everyone  who  had  seen  the  parting  on  the  mail- 
steamer  between  herself  and  John  Morrisson  know 
she  was  his  affianced  wife  ?  Had  her  brother,  her 
sister-in-law,  the  very  servants  who  had  come  home 
with  them,  her  Australian  friends,  any  doubt  that  she 
belonged  to  him  prospectively  ?  Had  not  their 
English  friends — everybody  indeed,  excepting  recent 
and  casual  acquaintances,  like  Harry  Tolhurst  for 
instance — been  apprised  of  the  fact?  Moreover,  in 
what  were  her  relations  with  her  betrothed,  or  the 
world  in  general,  changed  since  she  had  seen  him 
last?  Was  it  only  that  the  eternal  reproach  levelled 
by  Hamlet  at  her  sex  might  have  been  addressed  to 
her  individually  ?  Was  she  frail,  and  fickle,  and 
false  by  nature,  that  after  hardly  eighteen  months' 
separation  from  the  man  to  whom  she  had  pledged 
herself,  she  should  feel — without  any  assignable 
motive — that  she  would  have  been  beholden  to  him 
for  staying  away  yet  longer  ?  Under  the  influence 
of  a  flood  of  similar  reflections,  Portia  slowly  turned 
the  handle  of  the  library  door,  and  entered,  as  one 
walking  in  her  sleep,  into  the  presence  of  John  Mor- 
risson. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Whatevkr  Portia  might  have  contemplated  saying, 
before  she  entered  the  room,  the  mere  physical 
power  to  utter  it  was  taken  from  her  ere  she  was 
well  inside,  for  she  had  hardly  had  time  to  close  the 
door  after  her,  when  she  found  herself  enveloped  in 
so  close  an  embrace  that  she  was  literally  deprived 
of  breath.  She  was  conscious  of  being  kissed  with 
hungry,  devouring  kisses,  upon  forehead,  lips  and 
neck,  until  she  was  fain  to  plant  her  two  small  hands 
against  the  great  shoulders  that  overshadowed  her 
and  push  them  away  (after  the  fashion  in  which  the 
man  of  Thessaly  jumped  into  the  quick-set  hedge) 
that  is  to  say,  with  all  her  "  might  and  main." 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  she  cried,  flushing  and  panting. 
"  How  crue/  of  you  !  You  hurt  me  so,  and  you 
frighten  me  so  !  " 

"  My  darling,  my  darling  !  "  he  said,  releasing 
her.      "  Haven't  we  a  two  years'  score  to  settle  ?  " 

He  held  her  at  arm's  length  from  him,  half-seated 
upon  the  edge  of  the  library  table,  and  scanned  with 
eager  scrutiny  her  face  and  figure.     She  had  a  kind 

37 


38  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

of  helpless  sense  that  he  was  appraising  her — taking 
in  her  points,  indeed,  as  she  had  seen  him  do  upon 
the  station  when  he  was  judging  a  young  horse  that 
had  been  recently  run  in.  (His  judgment  as  regarded 
a  horse  or  a  sheep  was  that  of  an  expert. )  His  lips 
had  not  lost  their  old  trick  of  tasting  (with  nothing 
tangible  before  them  to  taste),  while  he  was  thinking. 
Portia  reflected  that  he  was  bigger  and  burlier  than 
when  she  had  last  seen  him.  There  were  people 
who  evert  noW  would  have  considered  him  a  hand- 
sorrie  fiian,  Iri  a  Henry  VHI.  or  William  Riifus  kind 
of  wfeky.  She  had  never  been  aware  betere  of  the 
curious  hue — a  Sort  of  opaque  blue — of  his  globular 
eyes.  She  made  these  observations  half-uncon- 
Bciously  to  herself  as  she  stood  in  his  powerful  gfasp. 
The  somewhat  rough  handling  she  had  experieticed 
had  produced  a  singular  feeling  of  lassitude,  aiid 
though — as  she  had  declared  to  her  sister-in-law  a 
few  moments  back — she  had  never  fainted  in  her 
life,  and  was  not  in  the  least  what  is  called  an  hysteri- 
cal subject,  she  felt  now  as  though  to  creep  itito  a 
dark  room,  and  there  lie  down  arid  cfy  herself  to 
sleep,  would  be  an  untold  relief. 

She  Uttered^  nevertheless,  no  protest  while  her 
lover  was  cdhteriiplating  her,  remaining  passive  until 
he  made  a  movement  as  though  to  draw  her  toWatds 
him  again.     This  she  resisted. 

"You're  a  l&t  prfettifer  than  you  used  to  be,"  was 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  3(j 

his  verdict,  when  she  had  finally  suffered  him  to  pass 
his  arm  around  her  waist,  as  she  stood  by  his  side, 
with  her  back  supported  against  the  table.  "You 
were  pretty  enough  out  in  the  bush,  but  you're  be- 
witchingly  pretty  now.  I  expect  you've  had  no  end 
of  fellows  after  you  in  London.  Come  now,  tell 
me  all  about  it ! '' 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell, "said  Portia,  gravely.  Her 
voice  sounded  like  a  funeral  knell  in  her  own  ears. 
"  We  were  travelling,  as  you  know,  until  quite  lately, 
and  we  don't  know  nearly  as  many  people  here  as 
we  did  in  Melbourne.  How  was  it  " — with  a  forced 
attempt  to  resume  her  natural  manner' — "you  were 
able  to  come  home  so  much  sooner  than  you  expected, 
Mr.  Morrisson  .'' " 

"  Don't  you  Mr.  Morrisson  we,"  said  John,  turning 
her  face  towards  his  own  for  another  kiss  ;  "or  I'll 
make  you  pay  a  double  forfeit  every  time.  Well, 
you  were  asking  about  the  coming  home.  I  wasn't 
due  for  six  weeks,  was  I  ?  " 

"  No,  not  for  six  whole  weeks,"  she  replied  with 
a  sigh.  This  was  a  form  of  assent  that  was  open  to 
two  interpretations.  It  might,  from  one  point  of 
view,  have  been  construed  in  the  most  unflattering 
sense  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  given.  Johji 
elected  (as  he  would  have  said  himself)  to  give  it  the 
contrary  signification. 

"  Six  whole  weeks  i  "  he  repeated,  "that's  a  devil 


40  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

of  a  time  to  a  man  in  love,  Portia,  and  I've  been 
in  love  with  you  now  for  over  five  years.  I've  been 
working  like  a  demon  to  square  up  accounts  and  get 
home.  Thank  the  Lord,  that  time's  over,  and  now 
we  can  get  fixed  up  as  soon  as  you  please." 

She  was  silent.  The  numbness  of  despair  was 
creeping  over  her,  and  curiously  enough,  as  the  pros- 
pect of  losing  her  liberty  loomed  in  terrible  proximity 
before  her  mental  gaze,  the  obtrusive  vision  of  Harry 
Tolhurst's  Madonna  and  Child  coupled  itself  in  her 
mind  with  her  impending  destiny.  She  could  see 
once  more  the  wistful  eyes  of  the  Virgin -mother 
looking  out  from  their  frame  of  strong  black  hair, 
and  the  unabashed  gaze  that  marked  the  intent  blue 
orbs  of  the  Child.  The  impression  of  the  whole  was 
as  strong  as  though  it  had  been  actually  photographed 
on  her  brain,  and  she  was  so  overcome  by  it  that  for 
a  moment  she  almost  forgot  the  actual  business  on 
hand,  as  the  commercial  people  say — a  business, 
nevertheless,  that  was  of  mighty  import  to  herself. 

And  here  I  must  put  in  a  word  in  behalf  of  Portia's 
apparently  helpless  and  weak-minded  course  of  ac- 
tion, two  epithets  which  certainly  do  not  apply  to  her 
character,  however  much  her  conduct  may  appear 
deserving  of  them.  If  her  approaching  marriage  was 
actually  becoming  in  her  eyes  the  prototype  of  the 
sword  which  the  wretched  Damocles  saw — as  the 
juvenile    story-books  tell  us — "suspended  over   his 


THE  PENANCE  OE  POET/ A  JAMES.  4, 

head  by  a  single  hair,"  why  did  she  consent  to  dally 
under  the  same?  She  was  still  her  own  mistress,  in 
the  sense  that  she  had  not  been  throug-h  the  dread 
cerenitjiiy  which  obliges  a  woman  to  swear  eternal 
love  and  constancy  and  obedience  to  inconstant  man, 
and  might  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  been  able 
to  withdraw  her  word.  Against  this  supposition, 
however,  there  is  more  than  one  argument  to  be  ad- 
vanced, of  which  I  will  only  mention  those  that  had 
most  weight  with  Portia  herself.  In  the  first  place, 
it  was  now,  as  John  IMorrisson  himself  had  reminded 
her,  more  than  five  years  since  she  had  given  him 
her  troth.  He  had  never,  as  she  firmly  believed, 
looked  with  eyes  of  longing  in  the  direction  of  any 
other  woman  whatsoever  since.  Not  that  Portia 
thought  very  much  of  this  accredited  warrant  of  a 
sole  and  exclusive  ])assion.  Despite  her  varied  read- 
ing, she  had  retained,  as  regarded  many  vexed  ques- 
tions an  artless  mind^  and  believed  that  people — 
men  especially — did  many  things  in  books  that  they 
would  never  dream  of  doing  in  real  life,  and  that,  on 
the  whole,  exo-connubial  affections  were  mainly  to 
be  met  with  in  romances.  In  her  own  innocent  eyes 
she  was  more  than  half  married  to  John  already, 
and  this  feeling  assisted  the  aforementioned  one  of 
her  belief  in  his  enduring  love,  to  hold  her  bound  to 
him.  What  assurance  could  she  give  herself  if  now, 
at  the  end  of  his   five  years'  probation,  she  should 


41  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

drive  him   away  for  no  other   reason  than  a  want  of 
lideHty  on  her  own  part — what  assurance  could  she 
have  that  the  same  contingency  might  not  occur  the 
next  time  she  should  lose  (or  fancy  she  lost)  her  heart 
to  somebody   else  ?     It   was  not  as  though  she  had 
given  way  to  a  sudden  engouement  and  repented  of  it 
a  week  later,  for  she  had  known  John  almost  as  long 
as  she  could  remember.     She  had  been  rather  in  awe 
of  him  as  a  little  girl,  and  even   to  the  time  when  he 
had  in  a  measure  appropriated  her,  while  she  was  yet 
in  short  frocks.     And  she  was  not  (no,  certainly  she 
was  not)    in    love  with    anybody  else.     That  Harry 
Tolhurst's  deep-set  black  eyes  and  dreamy  gentleness 
of  manner  should  contrast  themselves  in  her  imagina- 
tion with  the  ardent  eyes  and  vehement  caresses  of 
her  betrothed  was,    she   hoped,   attributable  mainly 
to  the  fact  that  his  picture  of  the  Madonna  haunted 
her  so  persistently.      In  any  case,  she  had  no  reason, 
save  one  that  would  appear  dike  a  mere  feminine 
caprice,  to  urge  for  sending  John  away  at  the  present 
moment.     The  most  she  could  hope  to  do  was  to 
gain  time,  and  how  could  she  answer  for  it  that  when 
she  had  been  allowed  to  accustom   herself  again  to 
him  she  might  not  be  quite  ready  and  willing  to  be 
married   to  him.?     Wilmer's  heart,  for  one,  was   set 
upon  the  match;  more  than   ever  perhaps  since  the 
wonderful  episode  of  the  great  silver-mine  discovery. 
Moreover,  ways  of  behaving  that  were  disconcerting 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  43 

in  a  lover  might  not  matter  so  much  in  a  husband. 
And  as  long  as  the  wedding-day  was  not  actually 
fixed  there  would  be  time  to  reason  with  herself  and 
to  bring  herself  ultimately  into  a  more  befitting  frame 
of  mind.  Very  possibly  she  was  too  confused  just 
now  to  make  her  thoughts  worth  heeding  seriously. 
All  these  are  not,  it  may  be  said,  arguments  of  a  very 
forcible  kind,  but  they  had  the  effect  of  keeping  Portia 
standing  with  her  back  again'st  the  table  and  her 
lover's  arm  round  her  waist. 

"Why,  yes  !"  he  said  again  ;  "  there's  nothing  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  our  being  married  straight  off — 
as  soon  as  you  please.  What's  the  use  of  bothering 
about  a  trousseau  .?  You'll  never  have  anything 
prettier,  to  my  mind,  than  what  you've  got  on  now  ; 
and  you  shall  buy  all  the  best  in  the  London  shops 
afterwards,  if  you've  a  mind  to.  My  word,  my  pet, 
but  you'll  show  'em  the  way  !  I  was  thinking  how 
we'd  show  you  off  in  the  Park  this  morning  as  I  was 
coming  up  in  the  train  from  Plymouth.  What  sort  of 
a  mount  have  you  got — eh?" 

"  Oh  !  not  bad  !  "  Portia's  interest  was  readily 
aroused  in  equine  matters,  as  John  knew  of  old. 
"A  big  bay,  Avith  black  points — very  nearly  a  thor- 
oughbred. He's  only  a  livery-stable  horse,  but 
Wilmer  made  it  a  condition  with  the  keeper  that  no 
one  should  ride  him  but  me." 

She  did  not  say  /,  as,  doubtless,  she  ought  to  have 


44  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

said;  but  Portia's  education,  such  as  it  was,  had  been 
finished  in  the  bush,  and  John  was  the  last  person  in 
the  world  to  notice  the  slip. 

"  We'll  have  something-  better  than  that  for  you  be- 
fore long,"  he  said,  drawing  her  yet  closer  to  his  side. 
"Do  you  remember  the  little  chestnut  filly  I  was 
going  to  break  in  for  you?  She's  grown  into  the 
prettiest  mare  you  ever  set  your  eyes  on.  A  regular 
picture.  I  was  offered  a  couple  of  hundred  for  her 
down  the  day  before  we  started  by  a  fellow  who 
wanted  to  enter  her  for  the  Maiden  Plate.  She's  worth 
a  lot  more  than  that,  though.  Well,  I've  brought  her 
home  for  you.  She'll  be  up  in  town  this  week.  And 
jump  ! — good  God,  you  should  see  her  jump  !  You've 
not  had  any  cross-country  riding,  I  suppose.^  " 

"No!  but  I  shouldXxV^  it  of  all  things,"  with  a 
pretty  flush  of  anticipation  rising  in  her  cheeks. 
"  There  are  no  kangaroo  in  England,  are  there.''  " 

"  None  that  /ever  heard  of,  excepting  at  the  Zoo. 
But  fox-hunting's  about  as  good  a  sport  as  you  can 
find.  Wait  till  next  season  comes  round,  and  we've 
got  the  filly  fit — you'll  take  the  shine  out  of  some  of 
them,  I  expect !  " 

"  I  remember  the  filly  you  mean  quite  well  now,'' 
declared  Portia.  She  had  been  apparently  musing 
deeply  for  the  space  of  half  a  minute.  "You  won 
the  Oaks  wi.h  her  mother.  Oh  !  by  the  bye"  (with 
an  air  of  awakened  interest),    "what  became  of  John, 


THE  PEN  A  NCR  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  45 

the  trainer?  Do  you  remember  when  his  wife  was 
bitten  by  the  snake,  and  you  cut  the  place  out  with 
your  pocket-knife — and  she  died  of  something  else, 
after  all,  poor  woman,  the  same  year?" 

Launched  upon  this  retrospective  tide,  Portia  had 
been  looking  into  a  still  recent  past  and  had  there- 
fore failed  to  take  note  of  the  change  that  came  over 
her  lover's  face  as  she  made  mention  of  John,  the 
trainer.  It  was  an  ugly  change,  for  it  set  an  ugly 
expression  upon  it.  Whatever  chain  of  associations 
the  name  might  have  suggested,  the  links  thereof  had 
evidently  chafed  John  Morrisson's  soul  in  bygone 
days.  He  did  not  speak  for  an  instant,  but  his  lips 
continued  to  work  with  the  tasting  movement  Portia 
knew  so  well.  Like  the  men  she  had  read  of  in  the 
novels,  he  was  unconsciously  gnawing  his  mous- 
tache. Quite  unsuspectingly,  however,  she  con- 
tinued to  perform  the  feat  known  in  figurative 
French  as  that  of  putting  her  pieds  dans  le  plat. 

"And  the  daughter  he  was  so  proud  of,"  she  went 
on,  ruminating  ;  •'  the  one  who  had  had  such  a  'rare 
bringing  up  "  ?  I  left  the  station  before  she  came  up, 
and  I  never  went  back  to  it  afterwards.  Did  she  reach 
him  all  right?  He  was  so  solitary  after  his  wife  died. 
I  hope  she  is  keeping  house  for  him  now." 

Still  no  answer  !  Portia  looked  round  in  surprise. 
John  had  released  her  waist  from  the  pressure  of  his 
encircling  arm,  and  had  actually  turned  his  back  upon 


46  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

her.  He  was  looking,  or  pretending  to  look  in  his 
pocket-book  for  something  that  it  was  apparently  im- 
perative he  would  find  at  this  particular  moment,  and 
none  other.  In  the  process  of  looking  he  had  bent 
his  head  upon  his  chest,  and  Portia  could  see  that  the 
blood  had  mounted  to  his  temples  in  a  warm 
red  flame. 

"You  don't  tell  me  !  "  she  said,  half  vexed. 

"Tell  you  what?  "  he  answered,  roughly; "you're 
asking  me  a  lot  of  questions  about  people  I  haven't 
come  across  for  the  Lord  knows  how  long,  I've  been 
up  in  the  north  of  Queensland,  you  know  ;  and  let 
me  see,  when  I  did  stop  at  the  station  on  one  occa- 
sion, the  Willets — father  and  daughter — had  left." 

"Oh,  dear!  I'm  sorry,"  said  Portia,  simply;  "it 
was  John  Willet  who  first  taught  me  to  ride,  I  believe, 
andhe  was  never  tired  of  talking  of  his  '  little  lass  '  in 
the  old  country.  We  were  about  of  an  age — she  and 
I — he  used  to  say." 

All  this  time  John  was  still  continuing  to  turn  over 
the  contents  of  his  pocket-book,  unheeding,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, of  Portia's  reflections  :  she,  therefore  held 
her  peace,  and  carried  them  on  mutely.  She  was 
thinking  now  of  a  time  anterior  even  to  the  one  when 
she  had  first  known  him — a  time  at  which  she  had 
been  alternately  fondled  and  scolded  by  Emma,  as 
she  trotted  bare-legged  about  the  yard  and  garden 
that   surrounded   the   Paradinyah    homestead.     The 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  :  47 

station  and  all  its  appurtenances  had  represented  to 
to  her  in  those  days  what  the  duck-pond  represented 
to  Andersen's  Ugly  Duckling — a  vast  region,  with 
unlimited  resources  for  the  arousing  of  interest  and 
amusement  of  every  imaginable  description.  She 
was  made  familiar  with  the  draughting  of  cattle,  the 
shearing  of  sheep,  and  the  branding  of  calves  and 
horses,  almost  as  soon  as  she  could  run  alone,  and  to 
her  infant  imagination  these  were  the  events  round 
which  the  whole  world  revolved.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
her  own  world  revolved  around  them  ;  for  what  con- 
ception has  a  six-year-old  brain  of  other  than  a  sub- 
jective universe  ?  One  of  her  clearest  recollections 
was  of  the  first  time  she  had  ridden  into  the  township 
for  the  letters  with  John  Willet,  mounted  on  an  old 
mare  of  such  amazing  girth  that  her  little  feet  dan- 
gling down  from  the  saddle  had  hardly  reached  to  the 
animal's  ribs.  Portia  was,  however,  a  practiced  rider 
even  at  that  time — for  she  would  gallop  her  own  pony 
barebacked  through  the  scrub,  mounted  for  the  most 
part  a  califourchon  like  a  Sioux  chief.  She  had  a 
miniature  stock-whip,  which  she  learned  to  crack  in 
quite  a  professional  way.  It  was  not  until  she  had 
come  home  for  the  holidays  after  the  first  year  that 
she  had  been  sent,  protesting  and  weeping,  to  a  Mel- 
bourne boarding-school,  that  John  Morrisson,  a  newly- 
arrived  inmate  of  the  Paradinyah  homestead,  had  ap- 
peared on  her  horizon.     It  was  he  who  had  brought 


48  THE  PENANCE  OF  FOR  TIA  JAMES. 

money  into  the  concern,  and  she  had  grown  up  with 
a  kind  of  a  vague  belief  that  they  were  all  under  great 
obligations  to  him,  and  that  Wilmer  would  inevita- 
bly have  "gone  broke  "  but  for  his  timely  interven- 
tion. Of  her  own  parents,  dead  within  a  twelve- 
month of  each  other,  when  she  was  barely  five  years 
old,  she  retained  but  the  most  shadowy  of  recollec- 
tions. Her  father,  as  she  knew,  had  married  young, 
and  Wilmer  had  been  his  only  son.  The  mother  had 
died  at  the  birth.  After  five-and-twenty  years  of  a 
widower's  existence,  spent  in  roving  about  the  world, 
he  had  drifted  to  Australia,  purchased  a  bush  property 
for  his  son,  and  finally  contracted  a  second  marriage 
in  Melbourne,  with  a  girl  some  thirty  years  younger 
than  himself.  Portia  knew  little  about  her  mother. 
She  had  gathered,  however,  that  she  was  beautiful, 
though  of  insignificant  extraction — not  '"adelig,''  as 
Emma  said,  with  a  pitying  shake  of  the  head.  All 
her  own  understanding  of  family  ties,  all  that  she 
had  ever  known  of  family  love  and  tenderness  and 
authority,  she  owed  to  her  step-brother  and  his  wife. 
Enveloped  in  a  moral  atmosphere  at  once  bracing 
and  tender  from  her  childhood  upwards,  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  to  regret  that  she  was  not  only 
orphaned,  but  sisterless  and  brotherless  as  well,  in 
the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  phrase.  She  never 
doubted  that  she  had  had  as  large  share  of  love  and 
care  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  most  loved  and  looked- 


HE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  49 

after  of  children,  and  that  Wilmer  and  Emma  only 
"wanted  her  good."  This  conviction,  that  she  held 
as  firmly  as — more  firmly  maybe  than — the  Articles 
set  forth  in  the  Creed  in  her  Church  of  England 
Prayer-book,  might  have  explained  in  a  great  mea- 
sure the  attitude  of  passive  acceptance  of  her  fate 
that  had  marked  her  engagement  vi'ith  John  Morrisson. 
Even  the  request  she  had  proffered  to  be  allowed  to 
wait  until  she  was  of  age  before  the  marriage  was 
consummated  M'as  the  result  of  an  inspiration  so  bold 
and  unprecedented  that  she  was  unable  to  account 
for  it  to  herself.  Thiriking  over  the  past  this  morn- 
ing, with  the  future  in  the  guise  of  her  returned  lover 
standing  mysteriously  taciturn  by  her  side,  Portia 
was  thunderstruck  to  find  that  the  vision  of  the  Ma- 
donna's effigy  seemed  to  blend  itself  with  those  dis- 
tant scenes,  almost  as  determinedly  as  it  had  blended 
itself  with  the  impression  of  vague  terror  provoked 
awhile  ago  by  John's  suggestion  that  she  should 
marry  him  without  delay.  What  magic  made  her 
perpetually  embroil  in  her  mind  matters  so  wide  apart 
in  reality  !  Why,  out  of  all  the  pictures  she  had  seen 
that  morning,  did  this  one  alone  rise  like  a  spectre 
before  her,  and  spread  its  blurred  hues  over  whatever 
passage  in  her  life  she  might  happen  to  pass  under 
review  }  In  olden  times  people  v.'ould  have  declared 
there  was  some  deadly  witchcraft  in  the  painting. 
Why  did  the  Madonna's  eyes,  above  all,  haunt  her 


50  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

as  though  they  had  some  special  message  for  her 
that  none  else  in  the  world  could  understand  ?  These 
thoughts,  begot,  as  she  would  fain  have  believed,, 
"of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy,"  continued  neverthe- 
less to  run  riot  through  her  brain,  until  she  was  sud- 
denly brought  back  (like  a  witness  in  the  Supreme 
Court)  to  the  "facts  of  the  case"  by  John's  trium- 
phant voice. 

"By  George  I  I  thought  I'd  lost  it.  See  here,  my 
pet,  what  I've  brought  you  from  the  mine— quite  close 
to  it,  that's  to  say.  No — you  shan't  have  it  till  you've 
given  me  a  kiss  first. " 

He  had  seated  himself  quite  upon  the  edge  of  the 
table  by  this  time,  and  was  holding  her  close  to  his 
knee  like  a  child.  She  kissed  him  timidly  on  the 
cheek,  in  such  evident  terror  of  fresh  demonstrations 
on  his  part  that  he  forbore  for  once  to  press  his  advan- 
tage. 

"You  know  you're  going  to  be  a  rich  woman, 
don't  you,  dear.?  I  expect  you'll  have  money  enough 
to  get  as  many  gimcracks  as  you've  a  fancy  for. 
Still,  here's  a  thing  T  want  you  to  wear  for  my  sake. 
It's  sui generis — it  is.  I  found  it  myself  up  in  Queens- 
land, and  I  got  it  set  round  with  diamonds  in  Syd- 
ney. I  guess  its  about  the  right  size  for  you — ain't 
it.?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  unfolded,  from  a  triple  wrapping 
of  soft  tissue-paper,  a  ring  composed  of  a  gold  band 


THE  PENANCE  OF  FOR  TIA  JAMES.  5 1 

upon  which  was  mounted  a  magnificent  opal  encir- 
cled by  a  setting  of  splendidly  flashing  brilliants. 
This  he  passed  over  the  third  finger  of  Portia's  left 
hand — holding  it  aloft  as  h©  did  so  to  admire  the 
effect. 

"Isn't  it  a  stunner?  "he  said.  "But  lo6k  here, 
darling,  let  me  just  twist  it  round — thig  Way — to 
make  believe  it's  your  wedding-riiig,  and  we're  man 
aiid  wife  !  " 

"No,  no  !  "  cried  Portia,  hastily  withdrawing  her 
hand,  "  it's  much  too  pretty  as  it  is.  1  love  opals  ;  I 
wonder  what  fool  it  was  who  first  thought  of  calling 
them  unlucky  !  " 

"Unlucky,  are  they?  By  Jove,  if  I  thought  there 
were  anything  in  it,  I'd  throw  the  ring  out  of  the 
window  this  moment." 

"  Not  for  worlds  !  "  she  protested,  closing  her  fin- 
gers tightly  upon  her  treasure,  while  John  seized  her 
hand  and  feigned  to  wrench  them  open.  Finally 
the  matter  was  compromised  by  her  allowing  him  to 
kiss  them  all  in  succession,  a  pastime  which  was  only 
put  an  end  to  by  the  timely  intervention  of  the  gong 
clanging  forth  its  summons  to  lutich. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  breakfast-room  in  the  Jameses'  Kensing-ton 
abode  wherein  they  chose  to  take  their  mid-day  meal. 
opened  upon  a  conservatory  that  Wihner  had  con- 
secrated entirely  to  Australian  trees  and  tlouers. 
The  half  acrid,  half  aromatic,  perfume  of  blue  gum 
and  peppermint  saplings,  that  by-and-by  would  shoot 
up  like  Jack's  beanstalk  until  nothing  short  of  a  ca- 
thedral dome  would  have  sufficed  to  shelter  their  ex- 
uberant growth,  was  wafted  therefrom  into  the  apart- 
ment. Miniature  Murray  pines,  with  their  rich  green 
bombe  surfaces,  fern-trees  from  Tasmania,  set  in 
humid  moss-grown  beds,  over  which  an  artificial 
water-course  trickled  perpetually — more  wonderful 
still,  flowering  specimens  of  the  scarlet  waratah  and 
infoliated  grass-tree  blossom  from  Mount  Wellington, 
set  against  a  background  of  brilliantly-flowering 
creepers  from  New  South  Wales,  made  of  this  con- 
servatory a  place  for  an  exiled  Australian  to  dream 
in.  John  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  it,  as  he  sat  down 
to  the  exquisitely  appointed  table  facing  his  betrothed, 
while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  formally  installed  them- 
selves at  the  head  and  foot  of  the  same. 

To  hold  up  the  assembled  party  to  the  eyes  of 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  53 

English  readers  as  thoroughly  typical  Australians, 
would  be  as  unjust  a  proceeding  as  was  that  of  Dumas 
pere  when  he  declared  that  all  the  inhabitants  of 
Antwerp  were  roux  because  he  had  encountered  two 
red  headed  girls  on  his  way  to  the  hotel.  No  one  is 
thoroughly  typical  unless  he  be  a  savage  or  a 
peasant.  Portia  and  her  relatives  retained  their  own 
underlying  individualities  none  the  less  that  they  had 
been  influenced  in  their  outward  bearing  and  modes 
of  expressing  themselves  by  a  long  sojourn  in  the  back 
blocks  of  Victoria,  in  daily  contact  with  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men — broken-down  gentlemen,  Kng- 
lish  yokels,  bush-hands,  and  the  like.  After  all,  the 
moulding  of  character  by  outward  influences  alone 
is  not  a  work  to  be  achieved  in  one  generation,  or 
what  would  become  of  the  theory  of  heredity,  upon 
which  everything  is  supposed  to  depend,  more  or 
less,  in  our  present  scientific  age  .?  If  these  people 
strike  the  English  reader,  therefore,  as  differing  in 
certain  respects  from  those  he  is  accustomed  to  meet 
in  his  daily  walk  through  life,  let  him  remember  that 
the  differences  which  will  strike  him  most  are  the 
merely  superficial  ones  resulting  from  an  occasional 
departure  from  the  conventional  rules  of  speech  and 
behaviour  that  guide  his  own  outward  conduct,  and 
that  in  all  the  main  essentials  they  are,  aufond,  neither 
more  like  him  nor  more  unlike  him  than  though  chance 
had  willed  that  they  should  be  born  and  brought  up 
on  the  selfsame  patch  of  earth  as  himself.     A  dif- 


54  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

ference  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  native-born  Austra- 
lian, or  long  resident  in  Australia,  of  the  not  too 
highly-educated  order,  as  well  as  a  difference  in  his 
tone  of  voice  and  enunciation,  from  that  of  a  person 
belonging  to  a  corresponding  class  in  England,  is 
one  of  those  facts,  however,  which  "nobody  can 
deny."  I  am  not  going  to  enter  in  this  connection 
upon  a  disquisition  respecting  the  relative  merits  of 
what  Mrs.  James  would  have  called  "  hofisch  "  Eng- 
lish, and  the  English  that  has  been  coined  out  of 
entirely  new  conditions  by  pioneers  and  backwoods- 
men. Suffice  it  to  say,  there  is  a  difference,  and 
Portia  was  never  more  sensible  of  it  than  when  she 
returned,  as  on  the  present  occasion,  from  moving 
among  a  London  society  crowd,  into  the  Anglo- 
Australian  social  atmosphere  of  the  Kensington 
house.  Her  sister-in-law's  unconscious  colonial 
slang,  grafted  on  to  a  German  mode  of  speech  and 
pronunciation  which  she  had  never  been  able  to  tor- 
swear,  struck  her  as  being  funnier  than  she  had  ever 
been  aware  of  before.  And  when  she  heard  Emma 
gravely  accusing  her  London  visitors  of  "  pooting 
on  zide,"  she  was  fain  to  invent  a  reason,  which  had 
not  the  remotest  connection  with  the  actual  one,  for 
breaking  into  an  unadvised  laugh. 

"  Might  fancy  yourself  on  the  Plains  again, 
mightn't  you  } "  said  Wilmer  to  his  guest,  as  they  sat 
down  to  lunch — he  had  placed  him  just  where  John 
could  obtain  a  full  view  of  the  most  flourishing  of 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  55 

the  eucalyptus  saplings  through  the  artistically- 
opened  Liberty  portieres  that  closed  the  conservatory 
— "  always  barring  the  mosquitoes  and  the  flies." 

Wilmer  James  was  what  is  called  dapper  in  figure  ; 
light  of  build,  though  of  a  fair  middle  height.  He 
was  clean-shaven,  and  not  unlike  a  squireen  as  re- 
presented in  some  delicately  tinted  engraving  of 
seventy  or  eighty  years  back.  His  morning  suit  had 
something  of  a  sporting  cut,  and  he  wore  a  monocle 
in  his  left  eye.  This>  however,  was  a  habit  of  very 
recent  adoption,  and  practice  had  not  as  yet  made  him 
perfect  in  it.  His  hat  had  never  been  known  to  sit 
otherwise  than  a  little  tilted  to  one  side  on  his  head. 
He  had  been  a  well-known  figure  upon  Australian 
race-courses  for  years,  and  none  would  have  been 
more  astonished  than  the  people  with  whom  he  had 
horsey  relations  (of  a  strictly  honourable  kind  as  far 
as  he  himself  was  concerned)  had  they  known  to 
what  extravagant  lengths  he  would  go  when  an  op- 
portunity for  backing  his  judgment — in  the  purchase 
of  some  pseudo  "  old  master  " — came  in  his  way.  If 
humanity  is  not  typical,  as  we  have  just  essayed  to 
show,  neither  is  it  consistent.  The  most  adverse 
tastes  are  frequently  to  be  met  with  in  one  and  the 
same  individual.  There  seems,  it  is  true,  to  be  little 
apparent  connection  between  a  love  of  horse-racing 
and  a  passion  for  Claudes  and  Ruysdaels,  which  last, 
to  be  properly  followed  up,  would  necessitate  a  long 
an4  arduous    apprenticeship   in    old-world    picture- 


56  THE  PENANCE  OF  POKTIA  JAMES, 

galleries  and  museums.  And  yet  it  is  a  fact  that 
Wilmer  James  would  spend  hundreds  and  thousands 
upon  a  sombre-tinted  canvas,  of  which  the  original 
hues  had  become  merged  into  blackened  greens  and 
blues,  provided  it  bore  either  of  the  above-mentioned 
great  names.  What  was  more,  he  thoroughly  believed 
that  he  had  provided  himself  with  an  inexhaustible 
fund  of  artistic  pleasure  when  he  succeeded  in  ac- 
quiring one  or  other  of  these  mendacious  works  of 
art,  to  which  the  certainty  that  only  he  himself  and 
a  few  of  the  initiated  were  capable  of  tasting  it  gave 
an  added  savour.  This  idee  fixe,  however,  as  it  cer- 
tainly was,  had  the  advantage  of  being  an  entirely 
harmless  one,  and,  excepting  for  the  fact  that  he  be- 
came a  "  mark  "  for  picture-dealers,  who  occasionally 
"  let  him  in  '"  to  an  enormous  extent,  was  in  no  way 
detrimental  to  the  i)icce  of  mind  of  his  family.  It  is 
to  be  wished  as  much  might  be  said  of  the  weaknesses 
of  every  nouveau  nfhe  who  has  become  "  dammed  to 
Fame  "  in  latter  years. 

Though  John  admired  his  host's  Australian  gully, 
as  Wilmer  called  his  conservatory,  as  unreservedly 
as  could  be  wished,  he  was  still  better  pleased  to  let 
his  eyes  rest  upon  the  face  just  opposite  him,  that  oc- 
casionally intercepted  his  view  of  the  eucalyptus  tree. 
Portia  was  conscious  of  his  glance,  and  was  feeling 
sadly  ill  at  case  under  it.  As  with  his  first  greeting 
of  her,  so  now  in  the  air  of  proprietorship  with  which 
he  publicly  reg^arded  her,  there  was  something  that 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  57 

made  her  long  to  "  turn  and  flee."  It  is  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  I  think,  who  has  condensed  into  a  single  sen- 
tence words  of  so  much  purport,  when  he  speaks  in 
one  of  his  romances  of  two  lovers  restored  to  each 
other,  who  manifest  their  joy  by  all  the  "endearments 
that  mutual  love  at  once  suggests  and  sanctions." 
Where  such  manifestations  spring  from  a  one-sided 
sentiment,  as  was  the  case,  I  fear,  with  John  and 
Portia,  they  are  apt  to  be  more  terrifying  than  re- 
assuring to  the  non-  or  wrong-sided  one.  Portia  was 
grateful  when  Wilmer  created  a  diversion  by  asking 
John  what  he  thought  of  the  English  salmon  (served 
with  a  wonderful  Pistachio  sauce)  that  he  was  en- 
gaged in  eating. 

"  It  beats  the  Murray  perch,  old  man,  doesn't  it.?  " 
he  said.      "  Here's  to  your  return  to  the  old  country. 
Thomas,  till  Mr.  Morrissons  glass  with  champagne. 
And  Miss  Portia's  too  !     Emma,  are  you  ready }  " 

The  toast  was  acknowledged  by  a  shake  of  the 
hands  on  the  part  of  the  recipient  with  all  the  com- 
pany in  turn. 

"  And  now  I'll  propose  the  Little  Wonder,"  he  said 
gravely ;   "  and  long  may  she  prosper  I  " 

The  "Little  Wonder"  thus  caressingly  alluded  to 
was  the  huge  silver  mine  twelve  thousand  miles 
away,  which,  night  and  day,  in  heat  and  smoke,  and 
steam  and  turmoil,  yielded  up  the  ore  that  was 
moulded  into  the  mighty  ingots,  that,  in  their  turn, 
became  metamorphosed  into  the  shining  coins,  which, 


58  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

to  crown  the  sequence,  filled  the  Kensington  mansion 
with  exotic  trees  and  old  masters,  at  the  will  and 
pleasure  of  its  master. 

"  I'll  have  to  go  and  look  after  things  a  bit  next 
year,  I  expect,"  continued  John,  after  the  second 
toast  had  been  duly  drunk.  "The  manager's  all 
right  enough  ;  but  there's  no  eye  like  the  master's." 

"  How'U  that  sxniyou,  Portia,  eh?"  asked  her 
brother,  looking  across  at  her  with  a  smile,  which 
was  suddenly  contracted  by  the  unexpected  falling 
out  of  his  monocle.  "She's  dead  nuts  on  London," 
he  added,  addressing  himself  to  John,  as  he  picked  it 
up  and  readjusted  it  methodically  in  his  left  eye. 
"  It  was  getting  about  time  you  came  to  look  after 
her,  /tell  you.  Why,  last  night  she  was  waltzing  up 
to  all  hours.  Emma  couldn't  drag  her  away  ;  and 
this  morning  she  was  off  all  by  herself,  if  you  il  be- 
lieve me,  before  anybody  in  the  house  was  up.  Come 
now.  Miss,  give  us  a  full,  true,  unvarnished  account 
of  your  proceedings  since  breakfast.  Why,  she's 
blushing — upon  my  soul,  she's  blushing  !  Things 
look  promising  for  you,  John.  You'd  better  cross- 
examine  her  on  the  spot,  if  you'll  take  my  advice." 

"Why,  you  know  where  I  went;  and  so  does 
Emma,"  protested  Portia,  feeling  it  impossible  to  be 
playful  under  her  brother's  inopportune  badinage; 
with  the  consciousness,  too,  that  her  cheeks  were 
burning  visibly,  and  that  there  was  something  more 
oppressive  than  ever  in  her  lover's  way  of  looking  at 


THE  PEN-AJVCE   Cf  PORTIA  JAMES.  59 

her.  "I  went  to  the  Academy.  I  always  said  I 
would  go  some  morning  as  soon  as  the  doors  were 
opened." 

"And  you  did  gif  her  your  gatalogue,  Wilmer," 
put  in  his  wife,  reproachfully,  whether  with  the 
intention  of  coming  to  Portia's  rescue,  or  of  remind- 
ing her  husband  that  he  had  been  aider  and  abettor  in 
the  transaction,  was  not  clear. 

"So  I  did;  but  I  never  thought  she'd  make  use 
of  it." 

"Weill  and  who  did  you  meet?  How  many  of 
your  beaux  of  last  night  did  you  drop  across  ?  " 

"None,"  said  Portia,  immensely  relieved  to  be 
saved  from  the  necessity  of  telling  a  lie — an  accom- 
plishment in  which  she  was  miserably  deficient, 
"but  I  wonder  why  you  selected  those  particular 
pictures  you  marked  in  the  catalogue.  I  saw  ever  so 
many  I  liked  much  better." 

The  stratagem  succeeded.  She  had  carried  the 
war  into  the  enemy's  camp.  Wilmer,  who  had  been 
actuated  by  no  other  aim  than  that  of  making  her  feel 
as  uncomfortable  as  possible,  found  it  incumbent 
upon  him  now  to  defend  his  self-assumed  claim  to 
the  character  of  art-critic  without  delay. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  pictures.-*  There's  a 
lot  of  modern  rubbish  I  wouldn't  give  a  sixpence  for. 
The  ones  I  marked  had  an  old  master  touch  about 
them  that  made  them  a  little  better  than  the  rest ;  but 
I  woiildn't  have  'em  in  mjy  collection  at  any  price. 


6o  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

We'll  take  a  turn  through  the  gallery  when   lunch  is 
over,  if  John's  agreeable. " 

"Just  as  you  like, "  assented  John;  "but  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  anything  about  pictures.  Living 
pictures  are  the  only  ones  to  my  taste." 

He  looked  at  Portia  as  he  said  this,  but  encountered 
no  responsive  glance,  and  the  conversation  took  a 
more  general  turn.  Everyone  had  something  to  ask 
about  John's  experiences  on  his  homeward  voyage. 
Mrs.  James,  who  was  wielding  a  huge  feather-fan 
of  barbaric  magnificence,  was  interested  to  learn 
whether  Mrs.  So-and-so  or  Miss  So-and-so  had  been 
considered  the  best-dressed  woman  on  board.  Portia 
wanted  to  know  what  John  had  thought  of  the 
earthly  paradise  of  Ceylon,  with  its  brilliant  fringe  of 
palm-trees  standing  like  sentinels  clad  in  green 
uniforms  upon  the  surf-wreathed  yellow  coast.  Also 
— and  this  was  a  melting  reminiscence — whether  he 
had  seen  among  the  little  bronze-hued  boys  who 
dived  under  the  ship  at  Aden,  to  the  chorus  of  "^  la 
mer  "  and  "ab  a  dibe, "  the  especial  one  whose  leg 
had  been  bitten  off  by  a  shark.  VVilmer  asked  to  be 
informed  as  to  the  best  day's  run  they  had  made, 
whether  John  had  been  lucky  in  the  sweeps,  and 
whether  there  had  been  much  high  play  on  board, 
When  he  had  replied  categorically  to  all  these  ques- 
tions the  party  adjourned  to  the  conservatory,  where 
Mrs.  James  selected  a  cabbage-tree  palm  as  the  most 
becoming  background  for  her  gown  of  peacock-blue, 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  6 1 

and  Wilmer  offered  his  friend  a  cigar,  with  the  remark, 
"and  I'd  just  like  to  know  what  you  think  of  it  by- 
and-bye. "  A  footman,  in  blue  and  silver — Mrs.  James 
would  have  had  him  bewigged  and  bepowdered  as 
well,  if  she  had  only  had  carte  blanche  in  the  matter 
— brought  in  coffee  and  liqueurs  (this  custom  had 
only  been  in  vogue  since  the  Jameses'  return  from  the 
Continent),  and  while  the  men  smoked  and  talked, 
and  the  words  "coupons,  shares,  Liltle  Wonder,  min- 
ing-plant, lode,  and  pyrites,"  frequently  recurring, 
made  their  conversation  as  unintelligible  as  it  was 
uninteresting  to  their  feminine  hearers,  Mrs.  James 
leant  back  in  her  lounge  of  gilt  wickervvork,  against 
a  gold-embroidered  cushion,  and  Portia  gave  herself 
up  to  a  day-dream  under  the  shadow  of  a  spreading 
fern-tree.  From  her  seat  she  could  see  through  the 
curtain-wreathed  archway  into  the  room  they  had 
just  left,  where  the  silver-blue  footman  was  engaged 
in  removing  the  dishes.  Only  yesterday  she  had 
taken  an  almost  childish  pleasure  in  the  reflection 
that  there  were  so  many  lovely  things  to  look  at  now 
in  her  daily  surroundings.  Yesterday  it  would  have 
been  entertainment  enough  only  to  sit  under  the 
ferns,  with  a  book  upon  her  lap  and  the  vista  of  the 
table,  like  a  scene  upon  the  stage,  with  its  carpet  of 
exquisite  flowers,  its  fruit-laden  dishes,  and  crystal 
glasses  to  meet  her  eyes  when  she  raised  them 
abstractedly  from  the  page.  To-day  her  horizon 
seemed  to  be  all  dulled  and  contracted.      Everyone 


62  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

abouther — John  with  his  heated  face,  Wilmer  with  his 
still  unfamiliar  monocle,  even  poor,  good  Emma,  in 
her  peacock  gown — no  longer  appeared  the  same. 
Life  this  morning,  as  she  drove  down  Piccadilly  in 
the  dimly-looming  fog,  had  seemed  so  full  of  won- 
drous possibilities.  Now,  it  seemed  to  be  all 
narrowed  down  to  the  prospect  of  perpetual  imprison- 
ment in  a  gorgeous  mansion  such  as  this,  with  a 
husband  in  whom  there  was  nothing  to  awaken  the 
vague  rapture  that  love  and  marriage,  as  she  would 
fain  have  imagined  them,  should  have  inspired. 

"What  do  I  want,  after  all  ?  "  she  reflected  ;  "and 
why  has  my  world  been  out  of  joint  since  I  came 
back  from  the  Academy  }  Can  it  be  that  my  only 
objection  to  John  is  that  he  is  not  new  enough  for 
me  .''  Did  I  want  marriage,  if  I  had  been  free  to 
marry,  to  mean  some  wonderful  change  that  would 
have  lifted  me  out  of  all  my  old  associations  }  And 
in  what  direction,  and  to  what  end  !  Why  should 
one  always  imagine  there  must  be  something  in  the 
unknown  so  infinitely  beyond  what  we  have  within 
our  reach }  " 

It  was  a  perplexing  question,  and  one  that  has  been 
turned  over  in  thousands  of  brains  many  thousands 
of  times,  since  the  day  when  slowly-developing  man 
evolved  his  first  ideal.  Portia  was  spared  the  neces- 
sity of  seeking  for  a  solution  of  it  at  the  present 
moment  (though  it  was  sure  to  haunt  her  later)  by  a 
general  move  towards   the  picture-gallery,    whither 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  63 

her  brother,  triumphantly  maintainingf  the  monocle 
tightly  screwed  in  his  left  eye,  now  led  the  way. 

A  person  professing  to  he  a  connoisseur,  and  find- 
ing himself  in  presence  of  an  unknawn  collection  of 
works  of  art,  with  no  real  knowledge  to  fall  back 
upon,  presents  a  pitiable  spectacle  enough.  In  the 
present  instance,  however,  there  was  no  exposure  of 
the  kind  to  be  feared.  In  the  iirst  place,  because 
Wilmer,  in  his  naive  and  stupendous  ignorance,  was 
entirely  of  good  faith,  and  took  himself  in  even 
where  he  failed  to  take  in  others  ;  and  in  the  second, 
because  nobody  in  the  party  that  now  accompanied 
him  cared  a  rush  for  his  Claudes,  or  for  the  value 
that  he  might  think  fit  to  set  upon  them.  John  eyed 
with  scant  respect  the  dimensions  of  the  gallery, 
lighted  from  above,  and  in  the  eighteen  or  twenty 
sombre  paintings  that  lined  its  opposite  walls  saw 
nothing  that  called  forth  his  interest  or  admiration. 

"But  just  wait  till  I  show  you  this,  old  man  1  " 
Wilmer  said  enthusiastically,  leading  him  up  to  an 
easel  standing  apart,  upon  which  was  displayed  the 
coppery-skied  Claude  that  Portia  had  so  graphically 
but  ungrammatically  described  to  Harry. 

"  How's  that  for  Hi  !    eh  .?  " 

"  A  landscape?  "  said  John,  dubiously,  feeling  that 
It  was  absolutely  necessnry  he  should  say  some- 
thing. 

"A  landscape!  why,  what  else  would  you  take 
it  for  ?    You  wouldn't  suppose  I  gave  a  cool  "  (here 


64  TIJE  PENANCh   OF  FOR IJ A  JAMES. 

he  whispered  something  in  his  partner's  ear  that  made 
John  Hft  his  eyebrows  high  with  surprise).  "  I  did, 
indeed  ;  and  a  wonderful  bargain  I  consider  it.  Look 
at  the  colour  in  that  sky  ;  look  at  the  sunset  glow  on 
those  branches  ;  look  at  the  reflection  in  that  water 
— just  look  at  it,  I  say  !  Some  people  wouldn't  have 
known  it  for  a  Claude  ;  but  I  spotted  it  at  once." 

"I  suppose  there  are  points  about  it,"  began  John, 
doubtfully. 

"Such  bease  !  "  murmured  Mrs.  James,  with  em- 
phasis, after  she  had  made  an  elaborate  feint  of 
examining  it  more  closely. 

"  It's  peaceful  enough,"  assented  John,  catching 
at  the  phrase,  "if  that's  all  you  want  in  a  picture; 
but  I'd  look  a  long  time  at  two  hundred  and  eighty 
pounds  before  I  spent  it  on  that." 

"There's  the  picture  I  dislike  the  least,"  said  Portia, 
and  as  she  moved  away  towards  what  happened  to 
be  the  only  genuine  Ruysdael  in  the  collection,  re- 
presenting the  corner  of  a  dark  forest  with  a  glade  of 
surpassing  softness  in  the  foreground,  John  came  up 
and  stood  by  her  side. 

"  I  haven't  got  any  eyes  for  pictures  to-day,"  he 
said  ;  "  I've  only  one  thing  in  my  head,  and  I  mean 
to  say  it  straight  out.  Wilmer,  here,  and  Mrs.  James 
will  be  my  witnesses.  Will  you,  Portia  James,  put 
your  hand  in  mine  and  say,  '  This  day  week,  or  this 
day  fortnight,  or  this  day  month  ' — not  a  day  later 
than  a  month,  though — '  I  will  take  you,  John  Mor- 


THE  PEiXANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  65 

nsson,  for  my  wedded  husband.'  Say  it  now,"  he 
said  eagerly,  as  his  lips  pressed  themselves  together 
in  their  accustomed  tasting  mould.  "  Make  her  say 
it,  Wilmer,  here  in  your  presence  and  Emma's  " — he 
had  referred  to  his  friend's  wife  by  her  Christian  name 
in  the  pure  agitation  of  the  moment,  or  perhaps  he 
was  thinking  of  her  only  in  her  relation  to  her  husband 
as  his  natural  ally;  "it's  been  pretty  rough  upon  me 
to  have  to  wait  for  my  happiness  all  these  years. 
But  you  can't  say  I  haven't  kept  my  word.  There's 
our  engagement  ring  on  her  finger," — he  continued, 
drawing  Portia's  cold  and  unresisting  hand  into  his 
own,  and  crushing  it  with  unconscious  force  as  he 
turned  to  Wilmer — "  the  new  one." 

Now,  whether  it  was  the  difficulty  of  maintaining 
the  monocle  exactly  in  its  proper  place,  or  a  result 
of  the  effort  to  look  at  the  ring  with  the  unoccupied 
and  available  eye  in  the  meantime,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  But  it  is  certain  that  the  look  which  Portia 
directed  at  her  "brother,  the  mute  appeal  written  in 
those  speaking  eyes  of  hers,  was  entirely  lost  upon 
him,  otherwise  this  chapter  of  her  life's  history  might 
never  have  been  written.  As  it  was,  there  was  nothing 
in  the  fact  of  John's  having  had  recourse  to  him,  to  urge 
his  betrothed  to  a  speedy  marriage,  that  struck  Wilmer 
as  being  in  the  least  extraordinary  or  irregular. 
Without  the  smallest  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  the 
match  was  all  that  was  desirable  for  his  sister,  and 
quite  convinced  that  she  was  entirely  content  with  it 

5 


66  THE  PENANCE  OF  />URTIA  JAMES. 

herself,  he  thought  he  had  noticed  a  tendency  on  her 
part  to  prolong-  her  lover's  time  of  probation  beyond 
all  reasonable  limits.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
though  Portia  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  child  at  the 
time  when  she  had  dutifully  promised  to  marry  John 
Morrisson,  all  the  years  that  had  elapsed  since  then 
were  counted  as  years  that  he  had  accorded  her 
magnanimously  and  generously.  It  was  time  that 
this  state  of  things  should  come  to  an  end.  It  was 
only,  Wilmer  reflected,  in  the  days  of  the  patriarchs 
that  a  man  could  afford  to  throw  away  seven-year 
periods  of  his  life  in  dangling  after  one  woman.  As 
regarded  his  own  marriage,  he  had  come,  and  seen, 
and  conquered  the  unresisting  Emma  all  in  five 
weeks.  He  therefore  adjusted  his  monocle  with  a 
fine  stage  effect,  and  said,  magisterially,  "Right  you 
are,  old  man  !  Now,  Portia,  my  dear,  there's  been 
shilly-shallying  and  dilly-dallying  enough.  When 
are  you  going  to  let  our  friend  John  lead  you  to  the 
altar?  One  week  " — he  raised  his  hand  as  though 
he  were  conducting  a  sale,  and  brought  it  down  with 
an  imaginary  auctioneer's  hammer  between  each 
pause — "two  weeks,  three  weeks — going,  going, 
three  weeks — four  weeks,  going — what,  not  gone  .'* 
Oh,  that'll  never  do  ;  four  weeks,  four  weeks — going 
— five  weeks — gone  !  You  made  a  sign — that  meant 
gonel  What!  you  didn't  know  it.?  Nonsense — any- 
how it's  a  settled  matter.  Come,  Emma,  kiss  her — 
kiss  them  both,  and  leave  them  to  settle  the  matter 
between  themselves." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Is  Mrs.  Morris  at  home? — and  if  so,  will  you 
give  her  my  card,  and  ask  her  whether  I  may  say  a 
few  words  to  her?  " 

It  was  Harry  Tolhurst  who  spoke,  proffering  his 
soft-voiced  request  to  a  woman  with  the  hard  exterior 
of  a  sixth-rate  lodging-house-keeper,  standing  in  an 
aggressive  "What's  your  business?"  attitude  just 
within  the  narrow  entrance  of  a  dingy-looking  three- 
storey  house  in  a  by-street  off  Netting  Hill.  Harry 
looked  more  like  the  "Chevalier  de  la  Triste 
Figure"  than  ever;  he  wore  a  mourning-band  round 
his  tall  hat,  and  carried  a  pair  of  black  gloves  in  his 
hand. 

"She's  in,"  the  woman  said,  in  nasally-suspicious 
tones,  as  she  took  the  card  he  handed  her,  with  a 
manner  as  ungracious  as  her  accents. 

"Oh;  then  I'll  wait  inside  a  moment,  if  you'll 
allow  nie,"  he  said  courteously. 

It  was  necessary  to  take  the  initiative,  for  the 
woman  had  made  a  gesture  as  of  shutting  the  half- 
opened  house-door  in  his  face.      Now,  however,  she 

backed  before  him  sullenly,   and,  opening  the  door 

67 


68  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

of  a  musty  room  upon  the  corridor — of  the  flyblown- 
paper-flowers  and  bead-basket  order — informed  Kim 
grudgingly  that  she  would  carry  his  card  "  hupstairs." 

He  laid  his  hat  and  gloves  upon  the  dusty  table, 
and  remained  standing  as  he  awaited  Mrs.  Morris's 
advent.  The  room  was  as  repellent  as  its  mistress  ; 
the  undusted  glazed  leather  arm-chair,  with  its  anti- 
macassars in  torn  crochet-work  slipping  from  the 
back  and  arms,  seemed  the  most  uninviting  resting- 
place  in  the  world.  There  was  a  green-gauze- 
enshrined,  ill-looking  mirror  on  the  mantlepiece  that, 
like  the  mirrors  shipped  off  to  remote  colonial  town- 
ships (where  mechanical  as  well  as  moral  failures 
are  not  unfrequently  to  be  encountered),  distorted  all 
that  it  reflected. 

"What  pains  people  are  at  to  make  their  lives 
ugly,"  Harry  thought  within  himself;  it  is  "curious 
that  man  should  be  the  most  inartistic  animal  in 
existence  !  There  is  a  shaping  of  the  means  to  the 
end  in  the  construction  of  every  other  living  creature 
that  spins,  or  weaves,  or  builds  itself  a  habitation, 
out  of  which  harmony  and  beauty  spring,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  It  is  only  human  life  that 
encumbers  itself  with  hideous  and  useless  super- 
fluities." 

It  might  be  imagined  from  the  tenor  of  the  fore- 
going reflection  that  Harry's  mind  was  like  that  of 
the  Psalmist,  to  wit,  a  "kingdom"  wherein  none 
but   decorous   subjects  were   given  their   liberty  of 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES.  69 

action — or,  in  other  words,  that  his  reflections  were 
always  of  a  purely  abstract  or  professional  nature. 
This,  however,  was  far  from  being  the  case, 
especially  this  morning,  when  he  had  so  many 
closer  interests  to  think  of,  that  if  the  crude  cheer- 
lessness  of  the  room  had  not  literally  jumped,  in 
French  parlance,  at  his  eyes,  he  would  hardly  have 
known  whether  he  was  standing  there  or  in  the 
equally  cheerless  passage  outside. 

So  many  objects  of  interest,  yet  room  for  such  an 
absorbing  one  besides  !  Ever  since  he  had  led  Portia 
from  picture  to  picture  in  the  rooms  of  Burlington 
House  to  take  final  and  formal  leave  of  her  among 
the  unheeding  crowd  in  Piccadilly,  her  sweet  eyes 
had  intercepted  themselves  between  himself  and  his 
work.  Sometimes  he  thought  of  her  as  Undine, 
endowed  with  an  embryonic  soul,  that  was  still 
awaiting  the  influence  that  was  to  transform  it  into  a 
steadfast  one.  Sometimes  as  Una,  walking  in  her 
virginal  innocence  through  a  world  beset  by  beasts 
of  prey  in  human  guise.  He  was  convinced  that  she 
was  entirely  sincere,  intelligent,  confiding,  and  joy- 
loving.  What  a  mind  hers  would  be  to  open  ! 
From  the  little  he  had  seen  of  her  surroundings,  he 
was  sure  that  she  must  have  been  brought  up  in 
intellectual  darkness,  and  doubtless,  spiritual  dark- 
ness too.  Yet  how  easy  it  was  to  arouse  her  interest 
and  sympathy  in  subjects  that  the  majority  of  the 
women  he  talked  to  cared  nothing  about.     Singularly 


70  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

enough,  as  he  owned  to  himself,  Portia  was  in  no 
wise  his  ideal.  His  ideal,  whom  he  had  never  as  yet 
found  incarnate,  was  a  dreamy-eyed  woman  of  a 
mystic  bias,  heroic  and  religious,  and  world-renounc- 
ing. That  Portia  should  have  taken  such  a  hold 
upon  his  imagination,  notwithstanding  her  complete 
divergence  from  this  type,  only  seemed  to  him  a 
stronger  proof  of  the  reality  of  the  sentiment  she  had 
inspired  in  him,  as  the  fact  that  nations  continue  to 
believe  in  revealed  religions,  despite  the  miracles 
and  contradictions  that  must  be  accepted  along  with 
them,  seems  in  the  eyes  of  religious  votaries  a  proof 
of  the  Heaven-inspired  reality  of  the  same.  It  was 
some  three  or  four -weeks  now  since  that  happy 
morning  at  the  Academy  when  Harry  had  been 
rewarded  for  a  weeks  attente  by  having  Portia  to 
himself  for  a  whole  two  hours  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  met  her.  He  had  haunted  the  Burlington 
House  approaches  vainly  since  ;  had  lost  hours  in 
the  Park  at  the  fashionable  moments  of  the  day  ;  had 
grudged  the  three  days'  absence  entailed  by  the 
funeral  of  a  distant  relative,  who  had  left  him  a  little 
sum  of  money  ;  and  had  finally  invented  a  pretext 
for  ringing  at  the  door  of  the  Kensington  mansion, 
"The  family  was  in  Paris,"  the  man  had  replied, 
' '  but  they  were  expected  back  shortly. "  And  Harry 
had  actually  found  himself  pondering  uneasily  upon 
the  motives  that  could  have  taken  Portia  and  her 
belongings  to  Paris   in   the  full   flush  of  the  season, 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES,  71 

when  everybody  with  money  is  sure  to  be  entertain- 
ing or  being  entertained,  the  first  being  often  only  a 
preliminary  means  of  ensuring  the  second.  There 
was,  then,  Portia's  absence  to  ponder  over,  and  this 
was  a  subject  that,  latent  or  active,  was  seldom  out 
of  his  mind  ;  and  there  was  the  immediate  execution 
of  some  artistic  work  to  undertake,  which  formed, 
indeed,  the  object  of  his  visit  to  the  dingy  lodging- 
house  this  morning.  Mrs.  Morris  was  the  only 
person  who  could  help  him  in  tlie  latter  respect,  and 
he  waited  with  some  impatience  for  her  to  descend 
from  the  regions  the  landlady  had  designated  as 
"hupstairs. " 

The  door  was  opened  at  last,  and  a  young  woman 
with  a  pale  face  and  black  hair,  carrying  a  baby  in 
her  arms,  came  into  the  room.  She  had  large  dark 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  possess  a  naturally  dramatic 
intensity  of  expression — or  was  it  that  some  brood- 
ing care  sate  behind  them  } — and  her  dress  betokened 
an  utter  carelessness  as  to  the  impression  she  pro- 
duced upon  her  callers.  It  consisted  of  a  collarless 
outdoor  jacket,  that  looked  as  though  it  might  have 
been  costly  and  handsome  before  it  had  done  duty 
for  house  and  nursing  attire,  and  a  limp  black  skirt 
that  dragged  the  floor  all  round  her  as  she  walked. 
The  child  upon  her  arm  in  no  way  resembled  her. 
Its  eyes  were  of  a  curious  thick  shade  of  blue,  that 
had  an  air  of  being  never  fully  pierced  by  the  light, 
and  the  bright  auburn   hair  stuck  out  in  scant  locks 


72  THE  PEXAA'CE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES. 

from  the  large  head.  Harry  held  out  his  hand  to 
the  mother  as  to  an  old  acquaintance,  and  placed 
one  of  the  shiny  leather  chairs  in  readiness  for  her. 
She  accepted  it  with  a  murmured  "Thank  you," 
and  seated  herself  listlessly,  with  the  baby  held 
against  her  breast. 

"  I've  had  some  trouble  in  finding  you  out," 
Harry  told  her.  "  1  went  to  your  old  quarters  hrst ; 
you  don't  seem  to  have  gained  by  the  change." 

"  It's  cheaper  here,"  she  replied  indifferently. 
"Well,  Mr.  Tolhurst,  I  said  'No'  last  time  you 
came,  you  remember  ;  but  I'll  say  '  Yes  '  now,  if  you 
want  me." 

"  I  do  want  you,"  Harry  replied;  he  could  not 
refrain  from  a  feeling  of  pity  for  the  evident  desola- 
tion he  found  her  in.  "I'll  give  you  double  what 
you  had  before,  but  I  don't  want  the  baby  this  time." 

"Not  the  baby  !  "  Her  face  fell.  "  I  must  bring 
him  along  anyhow.      I  couldn't  come  without  him." 

"Bring  him  by  all  means.  There's  a  woman  at 
the  studio  who'll  look  after  him.  I  should  like  you  to 
come  to-morrow  if  you  will,  nine  o'clock  sharp  ; 
and" — he  hesitated,  as  though  in  fear  of  offending 
her — "if  you  want  a  little  advance,  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me. " 

The  kindly,  cordial  manner  in  which  these  words 
were  uttered  wrought  an  instant  change  in  her  face. 
Her  mouth  lost  its  weary,  half-defiant  expression, 
and  trembled  into  pathetic  curves,  like  that  of  a  child 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  73 

on  the  point  of  crying.  The  tears  gathered  slowly 
in  her  eyes,  veiling  the  sad  expression  of  strained 
expectation  they  had  worn  hitherto.  She  placed  her 
hand  hastily  before  them,  while  Harry  said,  in  a 
voice  of  genuine  pity  : 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  help  you.  You  would 
be  doing  me  the  greatest  favor  if  you  would.  Are 
you  in  want  of  money  ?  Have  you  not  heard  lately 
from  your  husband.-*  You  were  expecting  him  from 
America  the  last  time  I  saw  you.  He  hasn't  turned 
up,  then,  yet  ?  But  he  has  written  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose ? " 

"No  !  oh  no  !  not  for  ever  so  long  !  "  The  words 
were  scarcely  audible  for  the  sobs — the  uncontrollable 
outburst  of  some  long  pent-up  grief — that  shook  her 
frame  as  she  spoke. 

"And  have  you  no  friends  here,  none  of  his  or 
yours,  that  can  help  you  ?  " 

"Not  one  I  could  go  to,"  she  said,  with  her 
handkerchief  pressed  to  her  face.  She  was  weeping 
more  quietly  now.  Ifthe  jilted  hero  of  Locksley  Hall 
declared,  with  some  reason,  that  woman's  emotions 
are  less  poignant  than  men's,  he  might  have  added 
that  it  was  because,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  they 
know  the  relief  of  having  "a  good  cry,'  an  outlet 
debarred,  for  the  most  part,  to  the  sterner  sex. 

"That  is  a  pity,"  Harry  said  gravely  ;  "but  you 
mustn't  lose  heart  so  soon.  If  you  want  to  earn 
money,  I  can  find  you  plenty   of  work  as  a  model. 


74  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

The  Madonna  was  the  best  advertisement  you  could 
'  have.  Meanwhile,  you  should  move  out  of  these 
wretched  rooms.  I  will  give  you  the  address  of  some 
better  ones  to-morrow — not  too  dear  ;  and  then  we 
must  have  proper  inquiries  made  about  your  husband. 
I  suppose  you  have  written  always  '^  " 

"Written,  and  written,  and  written,"  she  said  de- 
spairingly. "  What's  the  use  if  he  doesn't  choose  to 
answer .'' " 

A  vengeful  look  flashed  across  her  face ;  a  look 
that  would  have  better  befitted  the  outraged  Queen 
Athalie  than  the  wistful-eyed  Madonna  in  the  Acad- 
emy.     Harry  noticed  it,  and  said  softly  : 

"If  I  am  to  help  you.  Mrs.  Morris,  I  think  you 
should  trust  me  altogether.  It  is  very  painful  for  you 
to  speak  about,  I  know  ;  but  I  don't  see  how  we  can 
set  to  work  till  we  know  what  ground  we  are  treading 
on.  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  your  husband 
has  deserted  you  ?  " 

He  said  it  gently,  but  firmly,  looking  down  upon 
her  compassionately  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  haven't  any  reason,"  she  said  despondently  ; 
"but  I  do  think  so  sometimes,  all  the  same." 

Her  eyes,  still  moist  with  tears,  were  looking  up 
into  his  as  though  they  were  pleading  for  reassurance 
against  her  own  worst  terrors.  Harry  could  see  now 
how  grief  had  worn  and  lined  her  face  in  the  past  few 
weeks.  It  was  a  young  face,  hardly  more  than  a 
girl's  ;  but  motherhood  and  heartbreak  had  set  their 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  75 

seal  upon  it,  and  the  girl's  look  could  never  more  re- 
turn into  it.  The  dark,  almost  Oriental  eyes  and 
clear  pallor  of  the  skin  had  been  the  special  qualities 
that  had  made  Harry  seek  her  out  as  a  model  for  her 
study  of  the  Madonna  and  Child  as  she  stood  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd,  waiting  for  an  omnibus  at  Oxford 
Circus.  The  vehicles  seemed  to  fill  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, and  each  time  she  made  an  attempt  to  push  her 
way  forward,  with  her  infant  in  her  arms,  he  had  seen 
her  pushed  back  by  some  rudely  elbowing  aspirant. 
He  had  stood  watching  the  scene  for  a  few  moments 
before  he  came  to  her  assistance.  It  was  difficult  to 
say  to  what  class  she  belonged.  The  face  was  un- 
deniably handsome,  the  features,  regular  and  well- 
formed  ;  yet  the  subtle,  indefinable  suggestion 
conveyed  in  the  lines  of  the  mouth  was  rather  of 
Bank  Holiday  than  of  Lady's  Mile  associations. 
The  figure  was  youthful  and  of  middle  height ;  the 
dress — an  artist,  accustomed  to  study  hues  and  tex- 
tures almost  daily,  is  undesignedly  an  appraiser  of 
dress — was  rich  in  material,  and  well-made,  but  bore 
the  appearance  of  having  been  lived  and  travelled 
and  slept  in.  Harry  had  taken  in  all  these  details 
before  coming  to  her  aid.  As  the  next  Bayswater 
omnibus  rolled  up,  the  evening  being  a  rarely  beau- 
tiful one,  such  as  a  capricious  clerk  of  the  weather 
will  sometimes  ordain  in  the  middle  of  February,  he 
helped  her  to  mount  upon  the  top,  and,  with  his 
Madonna  still  in  his  mind,  seated  himself  beside  her 


X 


76  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

upon  a  double  seat  in  front  that  they  had  all  to  them- 
selves. 

He  did  not  know  Portia  in  those  days,  but  he  was 
not  moved  by  any  other  motive  than  a  professional 
one  in  his  accosting  the  young-  woman  he  had  just 
encountered.  He  spoke  to  her  as  it  is  allowable  to 
speak  to  a  neighbour  on  the  top  of  a  'bus.  (What  a 
curious  record  some  of  these  fragmentary  conversa- 
tions would  make,  to  be  sure  !  What  transient 
sympathies,  that  never  have  scope  to  ripen,  they 
might  betray  !  What  first-chapters  of  three-volume 
popular  novels  they  might  furnish  !)  He  asked  her 
where  she  wished  to  be  set  down,  and  discovered  by 
a  curious  coincidence  that  it  was  in  the  self-same 
spot  as  himself;  looked  with  interest  at  her  sleeping 
baby,  and  addressed  her  the  familiar  questions  that 
chance  acquaintances  on  an  omnibus  will  also 
occasionally  ask  each  other  :  questions  that  he  felt 
intuitively  would  not  be  resented  by  her,  though  he 
would  have  hesitated  to  frame  them  in  most  cases. 
"Was  that  her  own  baby.?"  and  "Did  she  live  in 
London?"  and  "Was  her  husband  with  her?"  and 
ainsi  de  suite. 

He  did  not  ask  these  questions  categorically  ;  they 
found  their  raison  d etre  after  the  prescribed  remarks 
had  been  "passed" — as  Mrs.  Morris  herself  would 
have  called  it,  according  to  omnibus  eti(|uette — be- 
tween her  and  himself.    The  fineness  of  the  evening, 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORT/ A  JAMES.  77 

the  astonishing  mildness  of  the  atmosphere  for 
February,  the  redness  of  the  sunset,  the  probability  of 
a  change  on  the  morrow,  the  snowstorm  of  the  pre- 
ceding Sunday — all  the  old  stock-subjects  received 
their  full  and  rightful  share  of  consideration  before 
more  intimate  topics  were  discussed.  Harry  found 
that  his  companion's  voice  corresponded  to  the  Bank 
Holiday  contour  of  her  mouth.  But  if  the  intonation 
did  not  speak  of  Newnham  or  Girton,  the  iimbre  was 
pleasant  and  unaffected.  He  learned  that  she  had 
been  to  boarding-school  at  Brixton,  but  had  travelled 
much  since.  She  had  been  to  Australia,  and  had 
stopped  at  the  Cape  on  her  way,  and  now  she  had 
just  come  from  America,  whence  she  was  daily  ex- 
pecting her  husband  to  join  her.  She  had  come  in 
advance  to  see  an  old  aunt  in  Clapham,  who  had 
brought  her  up,  and  who  had  telegraphed  for  her  ; 
but  when  she  reached  England  she  learned  that  the 
aunt  had  died,  and  now  she  found  herself  all  alone 
in  London  with  her  child. 

And  then  Harry  had  returned  the  confidence  by 
telling  her,  in  his  soft,  refined  voice,  as  much  as  it 
was  necessary  that  she  should  know  about  himself, 
before  leading  up  to  the  question  he  had  it  in  his  mind 
to  ask  her.  He  explained  that  he  painted  pictures 
for  his  living,  and  that  it  was  very  hard  work,  but 
that  it  was  the  only  work  he  cared  about  doing.  He 
entered  into  the  difficulty  of  hnding  faces  to  paint  that 


78  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

corresponded  to  the  ideas  ( '  *  ideals  "  he  abstained  from 
saying,  lest  she  should  fail  to  understand  him)  that 
he  had  in  his  mind,  and  told  her  how  much  he  had 
been  struck  by  the  fitness  of  her  face  for  the  study  of 
a  Madonna  he  was  contemplating-.  She  had  looked 
half-pleased  and  ha  If- frightened,  and  had  said,  "  Oh 
my  !  what,  me  a  Madonna  !  Go  away  with  you  !  " 
But  he  had  insisted,  and  had  assured  her  that  he 
would  be  more  grateful  than  he  could  say  if  she 
would  let  him  put  her  into  his  picture,  and  her  baby 
too  ;  adding  that  if  she  liked  to  earn  a  little  extra 
money  to  spend,  the  obligation  of  sitting  still  with  her 
child  on  her  lap  for  eighteenpence  an  hour  was  a 
comparatively  easy  way  of  doing  so.  "  And  you'll 
put  him  in  the  picture,  too?"  she  had  asked,  raising 
the  child  to  her  face  and  covering  him  with  kisses. 
"That's  what  I  think  the  most  of." 

"  Of  course  ;  why,  we  couldn't  do  without  him. 
Let  me  look  at  his  face,  will  you,  a  moment }  " 

She  turned  it  round  to  him  with  all  a  mother's 
pride,  pushing  the  cap  back  from  the  baby's  forehead 
with  eager  fingers.  Harry  gazed  curiously  into  the 
small  face,  which  Time's  fingers  had  not  as  yet  shaped 
into  any  definite  mould.  "  He  isn't  like  you,"  he 
said,  in  an  unconsciously  regretful  tone. 

"  No  ;  he  takes  after  his  father.  '  It  was  impossible 
to  say  whether  she  was  glad  or  grieved  at  the  resem- 
blance. 


THE  PENANCh.   OF  PORrxA  JAMES.  79 

"  He  has  fine  eyes,  though,"  said  Harry  ;  he  could 
see  that  she  was  greedy  of  admiration  for  her  first- 
born ;  "  are  they  lilce  his  father's  too  ?  " 

"  The  very  image  of  them,"  with  a  sigh  ;  "  and 
you  should  see  how  he  twists  them  about  when  he's 
looking  after  me.  It's  that  pitiful,  as  if  he  was  say- 
ing, '  What  'ud  become  of  me  without  my  mother, 
I'd  like  to  know  ? ' '" 

Harry  remembered  that  his  inspection  of  the  baby 
on  this  occasion  had  led  to  his  treating  his  subject  in 
a  more  novel  and  unconventional  way  than  he  had 
originally  intended.  People  were  beginning  now  to 
speak  of  his  picture  ;  his  rendering  of  the  eyes  of  the 
Infant,  especially  were  made  an  occasion  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  polemics  in  the  art,  and  would-be  art,  world, 
that  had  brought  it  into  prompt  notice.  Some  critics 
saw  in  these  eyes  only  the  mechanical  mediums  for 
the  transmission  of  light  without  comprehension  that 
the  great  French  painter  Deschamps  sets  in  the  heads 
of  his  realistic  infants  of  a  tender  age.  Others  de- 
clared that  what  the  former  critics  called  a  vacant 
gaze  was  in  reality  an  expression  charged  with  a 
mystic  significance,  and  that  "illimitable  possibili- 
ties "  lay  behind  the  somewhat  opaque  blue  orbs  with 
the  glareous  whites.  Two  camps  were  formed,  and 
the  Daily  Telegraph  made  a  fresh  harvest  out  of  letters 
headed  "Modern  Treatment  of  Religious  Subjects," 
to  which  Mrs.   Nicklebys  innumerable  contributed. 


8o  THE  PENANCE  OE  FOKTIA  JAMES. 

The  picture  had  been  begun  in  February,  and  Harry 
had  worked  at  it  unceasingly  until  it  was  sufficiently 
advanced  to  be  sent  to  the  Academy,  under  the  ap- 
pellation of  "  A  Study  for  the  Virgin  and  Child."  He 
had  not  exchanged  much  conversation  with  his  model, 
being  loth  to  lose  the  benefit  of  an  abstracted,  half- 
vvisful  expression  that  she  wore  M'hen  she  was  silent. 
He  thought  of  all  these  things  now,  as  she  looked  up 
towards  him  for  help  and  counsel.  Perhaps,  if  the 
vision  of  Portia  had  not  been  so  ever-present  in  his 
mind,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  resist  answering 
the  appeal  by  one  of  those  demonstrations  of  sym- 
pathy that  a  man  is  so  prompted  to  make  when  a 
young  and  pretty  woman  seeks  consolation  at  his 
hands.  But,  besides  the  fact  that  he  cherished  Por- 
tia's image  so  closely,  Harry  had  strongly-rooted 
principles  as  regarded  the  treatment  of  his  models. 
He  therefore  replied  to  the  glance  by  the  formal 
words,  "  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Morris,  lam 
most  anxious  to  do  everything  in  my  power  to  help 
you.  At  nine  o'clock  to-morrow,  then — and  I  shall 
hope  to  be  able  to  advise  you  about  your  course 
then.  I  have  an  appointment  to  keep  now  ;  but  if 
you  will  think  over  the  matter  to-day,  and  tell  me  as 
much  of  your  case  as  may  be  necessary  to  enable 
me  to  help  you,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done,  I  pro- 
mise you  ; "  and  without  waiting  for  her  to  thank 
him  he  departed 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Portia's  wedding-day  was  fast  approaching.  The 
last  free  Wednesday  had  come  and  gone,  and  now 
she  was  clinging  to  the  last  Thursday  in  the  week 
that  she  might  still  call  her  own.  Although  the 
whole  party  had  made  a  hurried  visit  to  Paris,  where 
alone,  from  Mrs.  James's  point  of  view,  "a  going- 
away  bonnet  "  worthy  of  the  occasion  could  be  found ; 
and  though  the  chestnut  tilly  had  arrived  from  Ply- 
mouth and  had  proved  herself  all  and  more  than  a 
daughter  of  the  winner  of  the  Oaks  might  be  expected 
to  be,  there  were  yet  unnumbered  hours  in  the  day — 
hours  that  recurred  in  the  dead  watches  of  the  night — 
when  our  heroine  pondered  distractedly  over  the 
coming  great  change  in  her  life.  "How  I  wish,  " 
she  would  think  to  herself  at  these  times,  "  I  had 
done  like  those  Trappists  we  saw  in  the  south  of 
France,  who  say  to  each  other  over  and  over  again, 
'  Brother,  think  of  Death.'  If  I  had  only  kept  saying 
to  myself,  '  It's  no  use,  I've  got  to  be  married — It's 
no  use,  I've  got  to  be  married,'  I  suppose   it   would 

8i 


82  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

have  seemed  as  easy  and  natural  to  go  to  the  altar 
when  the  time  came,  as  it  must  seem  to  them  to  sink 
into  the  grave  that  they  have  been  digging  for  them- 
selves for  so  long.  But  I  have  always  put  away  the 
thought  of  the  inevitable.  It  seemed  so  far  off — as 
far  as  to  be  grown-up  seems  when  one  is  a  child  ; 
and  now  the  time  has  really  come,  and  I  don't  feel 
more  ready  to  meet  my  fate  than  if  the  marriage  had 
been  only  this  minute  arranged." 

If  Portia,  however,  was  in  no  bridal  frame  of  mind, 
the  same  cannot  be  said  of  John.  If  he  could  have 
reversed  the  Joshuan  miracle,  and  sent  the  sun  cours- 
ing round  the  heavens,  in  accordance  with  Israelitish 
cosmogony,  in  double-quick  time,  he  would  certainly 
have  done  so  during  the  weeks  that  intervened  be- 
tween his  arrival  in  London  and  his  wedding-day. 
There  were  moments  when  Portia  felt  an  inexplicable 
physical  shrinking  in  his  presence,  as  though  he  were 
literally  hungering  to  devour  her  bodily,  and  were 
whetting  his  lips  in  anticipation  of  the  feast.  She 
would  entreat  the  good-natured  Emma  to  accompany 
her  whenever  she  went  out  with  him,  though  her 
sister-in-law  was  not  particularly  well  fitted  either 
actually  or  metaphorically  for  playing  the  part  of 
bodkin  ;  and  had  she  been  brought  up  upon  the  sys- 
tem of  the  typical  con  vent-bred  y(?«weyf//g,  instead  of 
upon  that  of  an  Australian  bush  maiden  who  had 
been  allowed  to  run  wild  during  the  greater  portion 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  83 

ot  her  life,  she  could  not  have  maintained  a  more 
demure  demeanour  when  she  found  herself  for  a  few 
instants  alone  with  him.  She  felt  herself  indeed  at 
these  times  not  unlike  Andersen's  Ice-maiden.  But 
John  had  ardency  enough  to  melt  the  snows  on  the 
frosty  Caucasus  itself.  The  best  means  she  could 
find  for  leading  him  away  from  the  topic  of  his  all- 
absorbing  love  for  her,  was  to  talk  about  their  future 
plans.  They  were  to  return  to  London  after  a  tour 
in  Norway,  where  Portia,  to  whom  even  English 
twilights  were  a  matter  of  constant  surprise  and 
delight,  was  to  behold  a  sun-illumined  night.  After 
which  they  were  to  instal  themselves  temporarily  in 
a  private  apartment  at  a  West-End  hotel.  John  de- 
clared that  once  they  were  married  he  would  never 
let  her  out  of  his  sight.  "  I'll  stick  to  you  like  your 
shadow,  my  darling,"  he  said  ;  "  there'll  never  have 
been  such  spoons  in  this  world  as  you  and  me." 

Portia  on  these  occasions  would  maintain  a  dead 
silence.  Sometimes,  like  a  slowly-fading  picture  in 
a  dissolving  view,  a  dim  presentment  of  Harry's 
Madonna  and  Child  would  shape  itself  before  her 
gaze  as  she  listened.  But  the  impression  was  grow- 
ing fainter  and  fainter,  and  the  unaccountable  dread 
of  renewing  it  prevented  her  from  going  to  the  Acad- 
emy to  see  the  actual  picture  again. 

Never,  in  the  course  of  her  eighteen  years  of  think- 
Hig  life — for  before  the  age  of  three  the  impressions 


84  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

upon  a  child's  mind  efface  each  other  like  the  scrolls 
on  a  palimpsest — never  had  Portia  felt  so  awfully 
alone  as  during  the  few  weeks  that  preceded  her 
wedding-day.  With  brother,  sister,  and  lover  all 
trying  to  heap  fresh  proofs  of  their  tenderness  upon 
her  ;  with  newly-made  friends  running  in  and  out 
daily  with  a  thousand  offers  of  service  and  sympathy, 
she  had  a  sensation  of  completest  isolation.  There 
was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  speak  of  what  she 
really  felt,  no  one  to  whom  she  could  turn  for  re- 
assurance against  her  own  forebodings.  Never  had 
she  such  a  full  understanding  of  the  truth  that  money 
cannot  buy  peace  of  mind.  As  she  drove  from  shop 
to  shop  with  her  sister  and  her  betrothed,  to  inspect 
the  dainty  adornments  they  deemed  necessary  for 
her,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  only  buying  the 
chains  with  which  she  would  be  loaded  on  her  mar- 
riage-day. "Why  cannot  I  speak  out.-'  "  she  would 
ask  herself  despairingly,  as  she  lay  reviewing  her 
position  in  feverish  unrest  in  the  night-time.  "  Here 
I  am,  in  the  midst  of  the  people  who  profess  to  be 
the  fondest  of  me  in  the  world,  and  I  cannot  say  to 
them — and  to  John  first  of  all — 'Only  show  your 
love  by  making  a  little  sacrifice.  Give  me  just  a 
little  more  time  to  get  used  to  you.'" 

But  when  the  morning  came,  her  courage  would 
fail  her  afresh.  How  could  she  find  it  in  her  heart 
to  hurl  such  a  bombshell  into  the  midst  of  all  their 


THE  PENANCE  OF  FO A' 17 A  JAMES.  85 

pleasant  anticipations  !  Moreover,  if  it  was  simply 
a  matter  of  getting  used  to  John,  would  not  the 
wisest  way  of  achieving  it  be  to  let  him  marry  her  at 
the  appointed  time  !  In  one  sense  she  had  been 
more  used  to  him  years  ago  than  she  was  now,  so 
that  the  probability  of  her  accustoming  herself  in  the 
way  she  desired,  seemed  to  be  in  inverse  ratio  to  the 
time  she  was  given  to  do  it  in.  Curiously  enough 
she  had  ieMused  to  Harry  within  two  minutes  of  her 
meeting  him  in  front  of  the  closed  Academy  doors. 
How  could  one  account  for  such  perplexing  contra- 
dictions !  And  how,  above  all,  could  one  help  feel- 
ing as  one  did  ! 

There  was  one  friend,  and  one  only,  to  whom 
Portia  felt  she  could  have  made  plenary  confession 
at  this  time  ;  but  that  was  a  friend  who  was  not  at 
present  within  her  reach.  Upon  the  journey  home 
in  the  P.  and  O.  boat  Ismail,  a  lady  returning  from 
Egypt  had  joined  the  steamer  at  Port  Said,  whom 
Portia  had  felt  at  once  to  be  unlike  anybody  she  had 
seen  before.  Mrs.  James  had  not  been  pleasantly 
impressed  by  her.  "■  Ach!  she  would  topsy-turvy 
us  all,"  she  said;  "she  has  no  gommon-sense  ! 
But  certain  people,  and  Portia  among  them,  believed 
that  she  was  endowed  with  w/zcommon  sense,  and 
of  such  an  exceptional  kind,  that  the  most  ordinary 
matters  in  the  world  seemed  to  show  themselves 
under  a  novel  and  interesting  aspect  in  her  company. 


86  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

Instead  of  looking  at  things  through  everybody  else's 
glasses,  she  looked  at  them  through  her  own — Anna 
Ross's — glasses  ;  and  though  the  view  inclined  her,  no 
doubt  to  adopt  the  benevolently  ironical  standpoint 
that  Renan  declares  to  be  the  only  one  compatible 
with  philosophy  and  culture,  she  did  not  adopt  it 
outwardly  or  aggressively,  but  kept  it  for  herself 
and  a  few  of  the  initiated.  She  had  taken  a  liking  to 
Portia — such  as  solitary  women  with  male  brains 
will  sometimes  take  for  a  charming  young  girl  who 
has  a  naive  and  unbounded,  withal  a  timid  admiration 
for  them — had  made  her  sit  with  heron  the  forecastle 
when  she  chose  to  retreat  thither  for  a  quiet  smoke 
upon  sleepy  afternoons  in  the  Mediterranean,  and 
had  listened  with  a  half-smiling,  half  sphinx-like 
demeanour  to  the  young  girl's  tales  of  her  life  in  the 
Australian  bush,  as  one  would  listen  to  the  prattle  of 
a  favourite  child.  She  had  made  Portia  promise  to 
write  to  her  from  time  to  time,  and  the  latter  had 
done  so  at  least  once  in  two  months  since  they  had 
parted  at  Plymouth.  The  address  that  had  been 
given  h  ^r  was  that  of  a  street  in  Paris  where  Anna 
had  her  atelier,  and  where  she  received  com- 
munications addressed  indifferently  to  "Monsieur" 
or  "  Mademoiselle  Ross,  artiste-peintre. "  Portia  had 
tried  to  see  her  friend  during  her  hurried  visit  to 
Paris,  but  Miss  Ross  was  out  of  tow^n.  She  had 
therefore  been  fain  to  content  herself  by   leaving  a 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  87 

short  letter  for  her,  in  which  she  informed  Anna  ot 
her  approaching  marriage.  To  this  communictition 
she  had  received  no  answer,  and  the  longing  to 
write  again,  and  to  se  repaiidre  in  the  true  significance 
of  the  word,  in  a  letter  that  none  but  Anna  could 
read,  was  checked  by  the  fear  that  it  would  not 
arrive  at  its  destination.  Meanwhile,  the  days 
went  relentlessly  by,  until  the  fatal  morning  arrived. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  time  which  seems 
to  pass  the  most  quickly  is  invariably  that  which  is 
occupied  by  the  most  agreeable  sensations.  To 
Portia  her  last  week  of  grace  seemed  to  travel  with 
the  swiftness  of  a  gathering  storm  ;  and,  by  way  of 
intensifying  the  morbid  tension  of  mind  from  which 
she  was  suffering,  she  chose  for  her  nightly  reading 
that  most  appalling  psychological  study  of  Hugo's, 
called  Le  dernier  jour  dun  condamne.  She  felt  in 
every  nerve  and  fibre  each  line  of  the  hideous 
narrative,  and  the  opening  phrase  of  one  of  the  con- 
cluding chapters,  "Eh  bien  done,  ayons  courage 
avec  la  mort.  Prenons  cette  horrible  idee  ^  deux 
mains,  at  considerons-la  en  face.  Demandons-lui 
compte  de  ce  qu'elle  est,  &c. ,"  seemed,  by  the 
substitution  of  the  words  "  mon  sort  "  for  "  la  mort," 
to  meet  her  case  so  exactly,  that  the  altar  would 
assume  in  her  imagination  the  very  shape  and  sub- 
stance of  the  sinister  machine  on  the  Place  de  Greve, 
with  "  les  deux  bras  rouges  avec  leur   triangle  noir 


88  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

aubout."  Small  wonder  if,  when  the  morning  of 
the  wedding-day  actually  arrived,  her  heart  failed 
her,  and  she  would  fain  have  begged  once  more  for 
a  reprieve. 

But  the  time  for  reprieves  was  past.  If  she  had 
been  actually  in  the  hands  of  the  gendarmes,  who  laid 
pitiless  hands  upon  Victor  Hugo's  condemned  man 
as  he  grovelled  in  the  last  abasement  of  sick  terror  at 
the  commissaire's  feet,  she  could  not  have  felt  more 
powerless  to  free  herself.  The  gendarmes,  in  her 
case,  were  represented  by  Emma  and  her  brother 
and  her  friends  (the  clergyman  who  was  to  perform 
the  ceremony  might  take  the  place  of  the  bourreau), 
all  of  whom  had  her  in  their  grasp  to-day.  She  had 
felt  hitherto  as  though  a  door  of  escape  might  still  be 
opened  to  her  on  the  last  morning  ;  but  now  she 
knew,  as  the  condemned  man  in  the  cart  had  known, 
that  the  thing  that  loomed  before  her  was  the  Reality. 

They  were  hardly  suitable  reflections  these  for  the 
typical  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on — and  the  sun 
did  shine  on  this  late  July  morning,  with  the  veiled 
intensity  that  only  a  London  sun  can  manifest  upon 
occasion.  Portia  sat  by  the  open  window  with  a 
loose  wrap  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  a  cataract  of 
descending  hair  falling  below  her  hips.  The  pallor 
that  her  night-watches  had  set  upon  her  cheeks  was 
visible  in  the  morning  light;  but  to  a  face  so  fair  as 
hers,  with  youth  and  health  painted  on  the  lips  and 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  89 

sparkling  in  the  eyes,  paleness  is  not  an  unbecoming 
attribute.  She  was  tired  of  thinking  now.  The  less 
she  thought,  she  told  herself,  the  better.  She  laid 
her  head  down  upon  her  hands,  resting  them  in  their 
turn  on  the  window-sill,  while  a  line  in  TTie  Lightof 
Asia  that  Anna  had  given  her  to  read,  "Who  shall 
shut  out  Fate  .?  '  recurred  to  her  mind.  Her  fate  was 
lying  in  waiting  for  her  outside  this  peaceful  room, 
with  the  rose-bed  in  the  garden  that  she  had  grown 
so  fond  of.  It  would  be  upon  her  in  another  moment, 
and  even  while  she  was  pondering  she  heard  a  sudden 
knock  at  the  door. 

She  started.  It  was  as  though  she  had  herself 
summoned  her  destiny.  "Come  in,"  she  said 
tremblingly  ;  but  it  was  only  the  maid,  who  brought 
her  a  letter  that  had  come  by  the  first  post.  Portia 
took  it  listlessly  into  her  hands.  The  writing — a 
queer,  cramped,  lopsided  writing  enough — was 
familiar  to  her  as  Anna  Ross's.  "At  last !  "  she  said, 
as,  dismissing  the  maid,  she  shook  back  her  cloudy 
mantle  of  hair,  and  set  herself  to  discover  what  her 
friend  had  to  say  to  her  about  the  great  event 
impending.  As  she  read,  the  listlessness  disap- 
peared, and  a  strange,  eager  look  gathered  in  her 
eyes.     What  Anna  had  written  was  as  follows  : 

"  You  don  t  expect  me,  my  dear  little  girl,  to  add 
banal  congratulations  to  those  that  have  doubtless 
been  heaped  upon  you  already.      What  concerns  me 


90  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

solely  in  the  news  you  have  given  me  is,  how  far 
your  immediate  happiness  maybe  affected  by  it.  Of 
your  future  happiness,  despite  what  silly  people  may 
tell  you  to  the  contrary,  you  can  know  nothing,  nor 
1  either  ;  but  the  readjustment  of  your  actual  life  in 
the  way  you  propose  must  affect  it  at  the  present 
moment  for  weal  or  for  woe,  and  I  am  anxious  be- 
yond expression  to  hear  that  it  is  for  weal.  One 
man's  meat  is,  as  you  know,  another  man's  poison. 
From  my  own  point  of  view,  marriage,  as  it  is  at 
present  understood,  is  the  most  foolish  and  suicidal 
step  a  woman  can  take.  Why  should  we  bind  our- 
selves to  belie  for  the  remainder  of  our  natural  lives 
our  real  natures,  our  real  selves,  as  expressed  in  the 
new  instincts,  promptings,  or  desires  we  may  feel? 
Why,  in  short,  should  the  union  of  a  man  and 
woman,  which  is  meaningless  and  worth  nothing 
without  mutual  inclination,  be  made  the  occasion  of 
vows  and  oaths,  and  so-called  binding^  ceremonies, 
which  are  not  binding  at  all  when  the  inclination  is 
gone .''  The  entire  system  upon  which  marriage  is 
based  is  an  outrage  to  common  sense.  It  is  one  of 
the  few  contracts  that  must  necessarily  be  entered 
into  in  the  dark,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  one  of  all 
others  that  it  is  the  hardest  to  cancel.  If,  at  least, 
the  law  which  regulated  marriage  had  allowed  for  the 
laws  which  govern  our  being,  and  had  made  of  it  an 
engagement   of  a   specified    duration    renewable  at 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  91 

pleasure,  there  might  be  something  to  be  said  in 
mitigation  of  it.  As  it  stands  at  present,  I  hold  it  in 
abhorrence,  as  one  of  the  cumbersome  contrivances 
by  which  man,  who  has  systematized  war  and  rapine, 
and  oppression  and  persecution,  has  further  bur- 
dened our  existence  upon  earth  ;  and  I  always  feel 
more  prompted  to  send  a  cypress  branch  than  an 
orange  wreath  to  an  expectant  bride. 

"But  this  'sortie,'  dear  child,  must  not  discom- 
pose you.  Though  you  do  not  tell  me  so,  it  can  be 
for  no  other  reason  than  the  one  that  you  love  John 
Morrisson — at  least,  in  the  present — that  you  are 
going  to  be  married  to  him.  Therefore,  I  hope  you 
may  be  as  happy  as  you  would  be  were  you  spared  the 
marriage  ceremony  altogether.  You  are  full  young 
(you  look  so,  at  least)  to  forfeit  your  liberty.  Perhaps 
you  will  be  shocked  when  I  tell  you  I  think  every 
woman  should  see  something  of  life  before  settling 
down,  if  to  settle  down  at  all  is  consistent  with  her 
nature.  You  have  not  had  that  advantage  ;  and,  see- 
ing that  at  twenty-one  you  are  legally  your  own  mis- 
tress, it  is  a  pity  you  did  not  give  yourself  time  to 
come  and  take  up  your  quarters  here  with  me  for  a 
space,  where  you  could  have  looked  into  the  heart 
of  things  a  little  more  than  you  have  been  accustomed 
to  do  hitherto.  Remember  this,  anyhow.  If  now, 
or  at  any  other  time,  you  need  a  refuge,  a  place 
where  you  will  be  absolutely  free  to  think,  to  say,  to 


92  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

do  whatever  you  please  and  how  you  please — to  live, 
in  fact,  your  own  life,  just  as  your  instincts  may  lead 
you — come  to  me.  You  will  find  my  arms,  my 
hearth,  and  my  home —  such  as  it  is — open  to  you. 
It  is  not  even  necessary  to  write  beforehand.  I 
have  given  your  name  to  the  concierge,  who  has 
orders  to  deliver  you  the  key  of  my  studio  at  any 
time  you  may  appear  upon  the  scene  (I  keep  no 
servant).  Tell  me  when  you  expect  to  be  married, 
and  whether  I  cannot  persuade  you  to  come  to  me 
beforehand. " 

Portia  read  this  letter  twice.  The  effort  of  decipher- 
ing- Anna's  handwriting  seemed  to  drive  the  mean- 
ing home.  It  was  a  letter  as  unsuitable  to  the  oc- 
casion as  her  own  thoughts  had  been,  and  for  this 
reason  it  appealed  strongly  to  her  sympathies.  The 
arguments  against  marriage,  which  are  familiar  to 
most  people  who  have  read  the  pour  and  the  conire 
as  set  forth  by  Mrs.  Lynn  Linton  on  the  one  hand, 
and  Mrs.  Mona  Caird  on  the  other,  were  all  new  and 
startling  to  her.  In  her  present  frame  of  mind,  they 
seemed  to  bear  a  wonderful  stamp  of  truth  as  well. 
How  such  a  letter  would  have  affected  her  if  it  had 
been  Harry  Tolhurst,  or  someone  with  the  self-same 
eyes  and  voice,  to  whom  she  was  expected  to 
swear  love  and  allegiance  that  morning,  she  did  not 
stop  to  ask  herself  She  went  to  her  writing-table, 
the  Wouvermans    table,  which    Wilmer   had  caused 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  03 

to  be  stocked  with  every  imaginable  adjunct 
and  extracted  therefrom  a  telegram  form,  upon 
which  she  scribbled  the  words  :  "Thanks  ;  but  too 
late.  Must  be  married  this  morning. — Portia,"  and 
addressing  it  to  Miss  Ross,  317  Rue  de  Vaugirard, 
rang  the  bell  and  requested  that  it  should  be  carried 
forthwith  to  the  nearest  telegraph  office.  To  Emma, 
who  came  in  a  few  moments  later,  clad  in  a  dress- 
ing-gown of  pale  green  satin,  shrouded  in  diapho- 
nous  lace,  and  who  melted  into  "  Achs/"  and  "  Goii- 
lobs/"  innumerable  over  the  Braut,  she  made  no 
mention  of  her  letter.  Was  it  in  obedience  to  some 
mysterious  presentiment  that  she  had  never  even  re- 
vealed Anna's  whereabouts  to  her  relatives  either, 
the  fact  remains  that  as  soon  as  she  was  alone,  after 
reading  the  communication  a  third  time  and  thus 
entirely  mastering  its  meaning,  she  struck  a  match, 
and  holding  the  letter  to  the  flame  watched  it  con- 
sume slowly  in  the  open  grate  into  which  she  had 
thrown  it,  until  it  had  curled  into  black  shreds.  Her 
last  hope  of  succour,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  died  out  of 
her  heart;  the  door  of  escape  had  remained  closed, 
and  she  prepared,  as  the  history- books  tell  us  of 
queenly  victims  upon  the  scaffold,  to  meet  her  fate 
with  resignation  and  fortitude. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Who  that  has  ever  watched  a  group  of  nursery-maids 
and  errand-boys  assembled  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
a  house  with  a  striped  rwwning,  where  a  wedding-  is 
impending-,  can  deny  imagination  to  the  poorer 
classes?  Well  might  one  put  the  question  to  tliem, 
"What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ?  "  since  the  reward  of 
their  long  and  patient  dawdling  on  the  pavement  is 
often  little  more  than  a  transient  glimpse  of  a  lace- 
or  cashmere-enveloped  figure,  which,  for  all  they  can 
really  see  of  it,  might  equally  well  represent  a 
Mussulman  lady  (I  wonder  why  a  M.ussu\zvo?nan  is 
never  heard  of?)  wrapped  in  her  disguising  "feredje," 
as  an  English  bride.  Among  the  scenes  of  London 
life  in  the  season  that  Tissot  has  painted  so  well,  a 
fashionable  wedding,  looked  at  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  crowd  outside,  might  form  an  amusing 
and  characteristic  subject.  The  picture  should  be 
made  to  represent  the  covered  awning,  bright  with 
buff  and  scarlet  stripes,  which,  while  it  conceals 
everything  worth  seeing  from  the  beholder,  presents 
nevertheless   such    an    irresistible    attraction    to  the 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  n- 

loiterers  on  the  pavement.  As  regards  their  own 
share  in  the  show,  it  is  certainly  a  case  in  which  a 
very  little  is  made  to  go  a  very  long  way — as  little, 
maybe,  as  a  fleeting  view  of  the  bride's  silk-encased 
ankles  as  she  mounts  quickly  into  the  carriage,  or  of 
the  exterior  surface  of  her  bridal  bouquet  after  she  is 
seated  inside.  But  as  imagination,  as  Shakespeare 
has  told  us,  "bodies  forth  the  form  of  things  un- 
known," even  such  vague  indications  as  those  con- 
veyed by  the  ankles  and  the  bouquet  send  the  nursery- 
maids and  errand-boys  on  their  way  rejoicing;  and 
to  have  their  imaginations  stimulated  in  the  same 
direction  they  will  lie  in  wait  for  the  next  wedding- 
party  with  equal  pertinacity,  and  be  as  thankful  as 
ever  for  the  same  small  mercies  as  those  that  have 
just  fallen  to  their  share. 

In  the  bridal  party  .which  left  the  door  of  the  Ken- 
sington mansion  on  Portia's  wedding-day,  there  was 
nothing,  however,  to  appeal    to   the  imagination  of 
passing  nursemaids  and  errand-boys.     There  was  no 
awning,  which  serves  on  these  occasions  as  a  rally- 
ing-flag  for  the  crowd  ;  there  were  no  favours  ;  and 
there  was  no  throwing  of  rice    or  flinging  of   white- 
satin  slippers.      Having  obtained  the  one  great  con- 
cession he  had  pleaded  for,   John   had  yielded    upon 
every  other  point  to  the  wishes  of  his  bride.     Indeed, 
he  showed  almost  as  great  a  desire  to  have  the  mar- 
riage ceremony  conducted   quietly  and    privately   as 


96  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES  . 

herself.  Though  she  had  been  obliged  to  give  way 
as  regarded  the  "  going-away  bonnet,"  Portia  had 
remained  firm  upon  other  points.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  betray  the  bride  in  her  appearance  as  she 
came  down  stairs  on  her  wedding  morning  arrayed 
in  just  the  same  clothes  as  she  might  have  worn  to 
drive  into  Regent  Street  on  a  round  of  morning  shop- 
ping. The  tailor-made  frock  was  packed  away. 
There  were  associations  bound  up  with  it  that  would 
make  it  hard  for  her  to  wear  it  again  for  many  a  long 
day.  But  her  bridal  array  was  none  the  less  as  de- 
mure in  its  way  as  the  far-famed  Jenny  Wren's,  upon 
the  memorable  occasion  when  she  promised  Cock 
Robin  to  "always  wear  her  brown  gown,  and  never 
dress  too  fine."  It  was  in  one  of  those  indefinable 
hues  that  French  artistes  call  feidlle  jnorte — a  hue 
that  may  embrace  a  chromatic  scale  of  colour  rang- 
ing from  vivid  scarlet  to  palest  gold,  if  the  term  be 
literally  applied,  but  which,  from  the  tailleuse  stand- 
point signifies  a  shade  as  near  the  one  preferred  by 
the  modest  Jenny  as  possible.  In  this  soft,  dead- 
leaf  setting,  which  brought  into  relief  the  warm  tints 
in  her  hair  and  eyes  (when  you  looked  into  them 
closely,  Portia's  eyes  were  not  unlike  a  certain  vari- 
ety of  jasper),  with  her  pale  cheeks,  and  the  red  line 
of  her  half  parted  lips,  the  bride  looked  pretty  enough. 
She  possessed  one  of  those  entirely  supple  figures 
which  no  dressmaker's  craft  can  simulate,  and  even  the 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  97 

conventionally  n:iade  gown  went   into    unexpectedly 
classic  curves  upon  it. 

Mrs.  James,  meanwhile,  did  not  fall  short  in  her 
self-adopted  role  of  unconscious  foil  upon  the  occasion. 
Dead-leaf  or  dead  anything  else  was  not  for  her  at  her 
sister-in-law's  wedding.  She  had  never  been  an  up- 
holder of  the  self-effacing  theory  in  any  of  its  appli- 
cations. Her  gown  was  distinctly  of  the  voyant  order, 
and,  what  was  more,  she  meant  it  to  be  so.  There 
is  an  even  stronger  adjective  than  voyant  in  the  word 
criard,  which  implies  an  association  of  ideas  in  dress 
that  the  English  may  feel,  but  which  they  have  never 
been  able  to  put  into  words.  Mrs.  James's  dress 
was  both  voyant  and  criard,  and  to  carry  out  the 
French  train  of  comparisons,  the  colors  swore  as  well. 
She  wore  a  bonnet  wreathed  with  apple-blossoms 
that  would  have  been  an  exquisite  work  of  art  any- 
where removed  from  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  her  head;  a  visite  crusted  with  coruscating  beads 
that  flashed  parti-coloured  rays  around  her  as  she 
walked  ;  and  a  train  of  sapphire  velvet  with  salmon- 
coloured  satin  trimmings,  that  had  been  originally 
made,  against  her  own  better  judgment,  by  a  thea- 
trical faiseuse  in  Paris  as  a  theatre  or  dinner-dress. 
Thus  attired,  and  carrying  quite  gratuitously  a  terra- 
cotta parasol  with  lace  flounces,  Emma  mounted 
with  her  sister-in-law  into  the  closed  brougham  which 
was  to  drive  them  to  Kensington  Church  hard  by. 
7 


^8  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

Very  little  was  said  on  the  way.  Mrs.  James  found 
frequent  occasion  to  apply  a  gold-topped  scent-bottle 
to  her  nostrils,  and  to  offer  the  same  to  her  compan- 
on,  sitting,  "  like  rare  pale  Marguerite,"  in  abstracted, 
silence  by  her  side.  Of  the  two,  her  emotion, 
was,  perhaps,  at  this  moment  the  keenest.  Portia  had 
fought  her  battle.  She  had  been  fighting  it  night  and 
day  for  weeks  past.  There  were  scars  left  behind, 
of  which  the  pain  might  be  divined  by  a  certain  set 
look  in  the  eyes,  as  well  as  by  the  compressed  lines 
around  her  red  lips.  But  this  morning  she  had  capit- 
ulated ;  she  had  laid  down  her  arms  once  and  forever. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
in  knowing  that  the  struggle  was  at  an  end  ;  such  a 
relief  as  the  vanquished  may  feel,  perchance,  when 
they  open  the  gates  they  have  defended  so  long  and 
so  wearily  to  the  beleaguering  enemy.  Whatever 
might  betide,  she  must  make  the  best  of  it  now.  And 
how  many  women  there  are,  after  all,  she  reflected, 
who  go  through  life,  and  get  a  good  deal  of  happi- 
ness out  of  it  too,  without  any  share  in  the  thing  we 
call  Love.  Perhaps  there  was  only  a  fixed  quantity 
of  it  in  the  universe,  as  there  is  of  health  and  prosper- 
ity and  other  good  things,  and  it  fell  to  the  lot  of 
none  but  the  favoured  few  to  enjoy  it.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  a  thing  one  could  do  without. 

Farther  in  her  reflections  Portia  was  unable  to  go, 
for  the  brougham  had  drawn  up  before  the  church 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  99 

door,  and  Wilmer,  in  a  frock-coat  and  white  waist- 
coat (he  had  as  nearly  as  possible  slung  his  racing- 
glasses  across  it),  his  left  eye  screwed  up  painfully 
behind  his  eyeglass,  was  waiting  to  assist  them  to 
descend.  And  now  John  came  out  to  meet  them  from 
the  porch,  and  seized  a  liand  of  each.  His  thick  red 
beard  had  been  cut  and  trimmed  in  Renaissance 
fashion,  and  he  looked  more  like  a  jovial  Henri  de 
Navarre  or  Henry  VHI.  than  ever.  The  impalpable 
substance  he  was  tasting  must  have  had  more  relish 
than  ever  this  morning,  for  to  Portia  it  seemed  that 
his  lips  worked  unceasingly.  "  I  ;«?«/ break  him  of 
that  habit  when  we  are  married,"  she  thought  ;  and 
this,  it  is  to  be  feared,  was  the  reflection  that  was 
uppermost  in  her  mind  as  she  walked  up  the  nave 
by  his  side.  Of  order  in  the  wedding  party  there  was 
none.  The  little  group  of  four  stood  before  the  altar 
in  a  line,  so  that  in  the  eyes  of  an  indifferent  observer 
they  might  have  been  undergoing  marriage  indis- 
criminately, and  Wilmer  had  to  be  twice  reminded 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  give  away  "  this  woman," 
under  which  designation  he  had  somehow  never 
thought  of  his  sister.  The  only  person  who,  mindful 
of  etiquette,  wept  in  her  handkerchief  was  Emma, 
and  even  this  was  done  in  an  obviously  perfunctory 
manner.  The  clergyman,  who  had  been  bidden  to 
the  feast  that  was  to  precede  the  departure  of  the 
wedded  pair,  fixed  to  take  place  at  five  the  same  after- 


lOO  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES. 

noon,  walked  home  with  Mr.  James.  Emma  had 
insisted  upon  abandoning  the  brougham  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Morrisson,  and  had  driven  off  in  serene  and  un- 
witnessed triumph  in  a  hansom.  Thus  it  was  that 
Portia  found  herself  for  a  few  minutes  alone  with  her 
husband  as  they  drove  back  to  the  house.  Her 
husband  !  This  big,  red-bearded  man  with  whom 
she  had  just  walked  down  the  nave — her  husband  ! 
The  idea  was  so  unnatural  that  it  seemed  almost 
grotesque.  Never  had  she  felt  him  so  complete  a 
stranger  to  her  as  at  this  moment.  Far  more  of  a 
stranger,  indeed,  than  when  the  only  tie  that  had 
bound  her  to  him  was  that  of  a  close  and  early 
friendship.  She  wondered  now  whether  she  could 
have  been  under  the  vague  impression  that  the 
fact  of  standing  before  the  altar  and  repeating  the 
formula  set  forth  in  a  particular  part  of  her  prayer- 
book,  must  of  necessity  operate  an  immediate  mir- 
acle, and  inspire  her  with  wifely  sentiment  for  him. 
If  she  had  been  under  any  such  illusion  it  vanished 
now,  as  John  took  his  scat  by  her  side  in  his  newly 
assumed  character  of  her  legal  lord  and  master.  And 
by  her  side  he  would  be  "to-morrow,  and  to-mor- 
row, and  to-morrow,"  and  so  on  through  all  the  mor- 
rows to  come,  "to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time." 
Day  and  night  he  would  be  by  her  side,  and  she — 
God  forgive  her  ! — would  have  asked  no  greater 
boon  of  Heaven  than  to  see  him  depart  upon  his 
wedding  journey  alone. 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  loi 

Another  fatal  discovery  she  made  during  this  home- 
ward drive  was  that  the  more  loudly  John  proclaimed 
his  happiness,  the  less  she  felt  inclined  to  share  in  it 
herself.  To  have  to  sympathise  with  him  for  loving 
her,  when  it  seemed  so  impossible  to  love  him  in 
return,  was  a  hard  task.  It  was  like  being  called 
upon  to  act  in  real  earnest  the  unsatisfactory  part 
of  the  guest  at  the  Barmecide's  Feast,  who,  while 
seated  before  an  empty  board,  is  constrained  to 
praise  the  exquisite  flavours  of  the  imaginary  dishes 
his  host  continues  to  press  upon  him.  And  with 
what  genuine  conviction  John  played  the  part  of 
the  host  !  How  terribly  in  earnest  he  was  !  How 
completely  he  believed  that  what  to  her  was  Dead 
Sea  fruit  was,  in  point  of  fact,  real  nectar  and  am- 
brosia !  What  royal  dishes,  served  up  at  what  a  never- 
ending  Agapemone,  he  seemed  to  behold  ;  while,  to 
her,  the  table  was  bare  indeed,  and  the  prospect  little 
better  than  one  of  slow  starvation  !  He  had  taken 
her  hand — the  ungloved  one,  upon  which  the  first 
fetter,  in  the  shape  of  the  broad  wedding-ring,  had 
just  been  placed — almost  as  soon  as  he  entered 
the  carriage,  and  was  placing  it  close  over  his  heart. 

"Just  feel  how  it  beats,  deary,"  he  said  ;  "I  never 
thought  of  you,  Portia,  through  all  the  years  I've  loved 
you,  but  it  used  to  beat  like  that.  It  used  to  beat 
sometimes  fit  to  burst.  And  to  think  I've  got  you 
to    myself  at  last  !    Yes," he    repeated,    in   tones   of 


I02  THE  rE NANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES, 

husky  triumph,  "all  to  myself.  There's  no  one  can 
part  us  now.  Neither  God  nor  devil  can  take  you 
from  me  now  !  " 

He  uttered  the  reckless  words  without  any  blasphe- 
mous intent — in  the  mere  wild  jubilation  of  his  mood. 
But  the  blear-eyed  Fates — or  whichever  of  the  three 
grim  old  women  it  may  be  whose  office  it  is  to 
avenge  the  outraged  gods — had  already  taken  due 
note  of  them.  Even  science  has  not  been  able  to 
dispel  the  instinctive  dread  implanted  in  the  breast  of 
man,  from  the  savage  to  the  sage,  the  dread  of  ex- 
citing the  jealousy  of  the  powers  that  be  by  defiant 
boasts  of  a  happiness  beyond  the  measure  allotted 
to  mortals.  But  John  was  intoxicated  with  his  new- 
born bliss,  as  one  drunk  with  new  wine,  and  he  did 
not  count  the  meaning  of  his  words. 

Portia,  in  her  present  calm  and  sad  disposition  of 
mind,  was  frightened  at  their  vehemence.  By  some 
unaccountable  freak  of  fancy  they  seemed  to  conjure 
up  once  more  the  picture  of  Harry's  Madonna  to  her 
spiritual  vision.  She  had  thought  the  noonday  spec- 
tre had  been  finally  laid  to  rest ;  but  here  it  was  again 
confronting  her,  with  the  same  dark  enigmatic  ex- 
pression in  its  haunting  eyes  as  when  she  had  first 
stood  in  front  of  it  at  the  Academy  by  Harry's  side. 
To  free  her  mind  from  the  oppression  of  it,  she  raised 
her  eyes  timidly  towards  her  husband.  What  an  ex- 
ultant look  there  was  in  his  face  !     And  how  his  lips, 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  103 

that  the  close,  square  cut  of  beard  and  moustache  had 
almost  disclosed  entirely,  seemed  to  relish  the  impal- 
pable delicacies  they  were  tasting  !  It  made  her  al- 
most feel  like  Little  Red  Riding-Hood  in  presence  of 
the  wolf  to  watch  them — only  John  had  not  a  wolf-face 
though  just  now,  it  must  be  owned,  there  was  some- 
thing in  it  that  recalled  a  hungry  wolf's  expression. 

"We  shall  not  be  in  Norway  more  than  a  fortnight, 
nor  away  more  than  three  weeks  in  all,  I  suppose, 
John  ?  "  she  questioned  timidly. 

She  had  forced  herself  to  pronounce  his  name  ;  but 
it  was  uttered  almost  under  her  breath.  He  heard  it, 
nevertheless,  and  turned  a  rapturous  face  towards  her. 

"We  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  back,  I  promise 
you,  my  pet,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  stupid  arrangement 
that  we've  got  to  stick  on  there  at  Emma's  until  five 
o'clock  this  afternoon.  I  tell  you  what  :  we'll  go 
away  as  soon  as  lunch  is  over.  We  can  go  for  a 
drive  or  something  till  it's  time  for  our  train." 

"Oh,  but  I  ca«V,"  protested  his  wife,  her  heart 
sinking  at  the  prospect.  "  I  left  all  kinds  of  things 
to  do  to  the  last,  and  I  shall  have  to  be  up  in  my 
room  putting  by  and  packing  up  to  the  last  moment." 

"  I'll  come  and  help  you,  then  ;  it'll  help  to  pass 
the  time." 

"  No  !  "  she  said,  wondering  at  the  decision  of  her 
own  voice;  "that  cannot  be.  You  must  sit  and 
smoke  with  Wilmer  until  I  come  to  call  you." 


I04  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"  Those  are  my  orders,  eh  !  "  he  said  laujjhingly. 
"You're  going  to  begin  to  boss  me  already,  are  you? 
Now  you'll  just  see  what  you  gain  by  that." 

"Oh,  oh,  my  best  going-away  bonnet  !  "  shrieked 
Portia,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands  ;  and  at  this 
moment  the  brougham  came  to  an  opportune  stand- 
still at  the  door  of  the  Kensington  mansion. 

I  am  not  going  to  enter  into  details  respecting  the 
glories  of  the  "breakfast-lunch"  (as  Mrs.  James 
called  it)  that  followed.  It  is  a  sorry  task  to  describe 
not-to-be  tasted  dishes,  almost  as  sorry  as  to  assist 
at  the  Barmecide's  Feast  afore-mentioned.  Everyone 
can  imagine  for  himself  the  perfection  of  Wilmer's 
old  port — about  which,  perhaps,  his  judgment  was 
surer  (though  not  in  his  own  opinion)  than  with  re- 
gard to  his  "  old  masters."  Everyone  may  likewise 
take  it  for  granted  that  the  chicken  mayonnaise,  the 
Cingalese  curry,  and  the  pate  de  foie  gras  in  aspic 
were  all  that  they  ought  to  have  been.  Mrs.  James, 
likeTodgers's,  could  do  it  when  she  chose,  and,  with 
a  perpetual  silver-mine  in  Queensland  to  fall  back 
upon,  it  was  not  hard  for  her  to  emulate  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers  when  she  did  choose.  Although  there  was  no 
one  but  the  clergyman  to  be  impressed  by  them,  the 
wedding-cake  was  wreathed  with  as  brave  a  show  of 
costly  orchids  and  out-of-season  blooms  as  though 
all  London  had  been  there  to  applaud.  Nothing; 
indeed,  that  the  proceeds   of  the  silver-mine  could 


THE  rRNANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES.  105 

procure  to  heighten  the  effect  had  been  forgotten  ; 
and  as  nobody  was  to  suspect  that,  in  the  case  of  at 
least  one  of  those  who  sat  down  to  the  banquet,  the 
traditional  dinner  of  herbs  would  have  been  far  pre- 
ferable if  the  traditional  compensating  element  had 
been  there  as  well,  it  followed  that,  on  the  surface, 
all  appeared  to  go  as  "  merrily  as  a  marriage  bell." 
Mr.  Benson,  the  clergyman,  to  whom  Australians  of 
Wilmer's  type  were  a  new  experience,  sat  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  gorgeous  sapphire-velvet-and-sal- 
mon-silk-arrayed  mistress  of  the  house,  with  the 
newly-married  couple  opposite  to  him.  Upon  these 
he  made  his  reflections  between  the  nitervals  of  tast- 
ing Wilmer's  Australian  wine,  or  listening  to  his  opin- 
ions concerning  Imperial  Federation  from  an  antipo- 
dean point  of  view.  The  bride  appeared  to  him  to 
be  somewhat  too  refined  for  her  surroundings  ;  and 
what  a  curiously  far-away  look  those  strange  brown 
eyes  of  hers,  with  the  warm,  rust-colored  motes  in 
the  iris,  seemed  to  wear  !  What  a  singular  contrast 
they  presented  to  the  prominent  eyes  of  the  man  who 
had  just  been  made  her  husband — wherein  the  love 
of  good  cheer  was  perhaps  a  little  too  plainly  written  ! 
Then  the  host  was  not  quite  like  anyone  he  had  ever 
met  before.  Nevertheless,  Wilmer's  conversation 
was  interesting  to  him.  He  knew  all  about  the  State 
school  organisation  in  the  various  Australian  colonies, 
could  tell  of  the  origin  and  growth  of  the  eight-hours' 


Io6  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

system  all  over  Australia,  and,  as  longf  as  he  abstained 
from  talking  of  Claudes  and  Ruysdaels,  was  an  intel- 
ligent companion  enough.  He  even  possessed  a 
certain  glibness  in  speech-making,  and,  after  he  had 
successfully  wedged  his  eyeglass  into  its  place,  stood 
up  before  the  little  party  of  four  (a  much  harder  thing 
than  to  stand  up  before  a  party  of  forty)  and  drank  to 
the  health  of  the  newly-married  couple,  "  whose 
union,"  he  declared,  "had  cemented  ties  that  had 
first  been  formed  in  the  forest  primeval,  and  that 
were  now  more  firmly  knit  than  ever  in  the  midst  of 
civilisation." 

John,  without  rising  from  his  seat,  responded  by 
declaring  that  he  had  never  been  much  of  a  fist  at 
speech-making.  But  his  friend  Wilmer  might  make 
his  mind  easy  about  one  thing.  He  knew  he  was  the 
luckiest  chap  in  the  world,  and  he  hoped  they  would 
never  regret  giving  him  Portia  for  his  wife.  He 
meant  to  do  all  a  man  could  do  to  prove  himself 
deserving  of  his  happiness.  His  flow  of  speech 
failing  him  at  this  point,  Wilmer  rapped  the  table 
and  said  "  Hear,  hear,"  and  the  clergyman  came  to 
the  rescue  by  proposing  the  health  of  the  hostess, 
coupled  with  that  of  the  bride.  After  this  ceremony 
Portia  was  free  to  make  her  escape  upstairs,  where 
she  hoped  to  spend  the  last  few  hours  of  her  liberty 
in  mournful,  unhampered  solitude. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  next  episode  in  the  strange,  eventful  history  of 
our  heroine  is  of  so  curious  and  unprecedented  a 
nature,  that  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  the  often- 
proved  truth  that  Fact  is  stranger  than  Fiction,  to 
make  it  in  any  way  possible  of  belief.  It  concerns 
an  event  that  could  only  have  been  brought  about  by 
one  of  those  fortuitous  combinations  of  circum- 
stances that  we  have  agreed  to  call  by  the  name  of 
Chance  ;  as  though  every  event,  no  matter  of  how 
trivial  a  kind,  were  not  the  result  of  a  long  and  in- 
tricate chain  of  antecedent  causes,  whose  first  links 
(if,  indeed,  there  be  any  Jirs/  in  the  matter  at  all)  are 
lost  in  primeval  chaos.  Hitherto  the  narrative  of 
Portia's  life  has  run  smoothly  enough.  Her  quiet 
school-days  in  Melbourne  ;  her  happy,  healthy  ex- 
istence in  the  Bush  ;  her  dogs  and  her  horses  ;  her 
sudden  leap  into  richer  surroundings  ;  her  journey 
to  Europe  ;  her  travels  on  the  Continent,  where  the 
first  step  to  knowledge,  in  the  perception  that  she 
was  woefully  ignorant,  was  primarily  taken  ;  her 
London  balls  and  innocent  flirtations,  and  finally  her 
marriaire  with    a    man    round  whose    feet    she    had 


Io8  THE  FEA'ANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

played  as  a  child — in  all  these  smooth  thoug-h  varied 
experiences  there  has  been  nothing  that  could  come 
under  the  heading  of  strange  or  eventful.  It  is  only 
from  the  time  when  we  mount  with  her  into  that 
pretty  room  of  hers  upstairs,  where  we  witnessed  a 
few  weeks  back  the  scene  of  her  discovery  of  John's 
flowers — fraught  with  so  mighty  a  significance — that 
there  is  aught  in  her  career  to  justify  the  use  of  the 
words.  To  have  been  married  somewhat  against 
the  grain  was  neither  strange  nor  eventful,  for,  if  not 
in  England,  in  other  countries  at  least,  marriages  of 
this  kind  are  frequent  enough.  The  unprecedented 
part  of  her  history  has  still,  therefore,  to  come  ;  only, 
in  order  to  show  how  such  a  thing  as  befel  her  could 
be  possible,  it  will  be  necessary  to  say  a  few  words 
about  her  immediate  entourage. 

The  house,  then,  that  the  Jameses  inhabited  com- 
municated at  the  back,  by  means  of  a  garden  gate, 
of  which  the  cook  kept  the  key,  with  an  alley  that 
gave  free  access  to  Kensington  High  Street.  It  was 
a  means  of  egress  and  ingress  that  was  only  utilised 
by  the  servants,  and  its  existence  might  almost  have 
remained  unsuspected  by  the  masters  for  all  the  use 
they  made  of  it.  The  existence  of  this  door  and  this 
alley  of  communication  is  a  necessary  point  to  bear 
in  mind.  Another  matter  upon  which  it  is  needful 
to  insist  is  the  relation  in  which  Portia  stood  to  the 
domestics.      From  the  blue-and-silver  "Jeames"to 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  109 

the  scullery-maid  who  came  from  the  orphanage,  one 
and  all  adored  her.  To  have  addressed  them  in  any- 
other  than  the  natural  friendly  give-and-take  voice 
in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  chat  from  her  child- 
hood upwards  with  the  station  hands  on  Wilmer's 
run,  would  have  been  impossible  to  her.  Hence, 
everyone  in  the  house  rendered  her  prompt  and 
willing  service.  There  was  only  one,  however,  who 
could  by  any  means  aspire  to  the  role  of  confuiaiite  in 
the  sense  in  which  we  see  that  important  function 
filled  on  the  French  stage  by  the  lady  whose  duty  it 
is  to  play  "second  fiddle  "  to  the  distracted  heroine, 
and  to  receive  the  outpouring  of  her  sombre  confi- 
dences ;  and  this  was  not  an  English  servant  at  all, 
but  a  girl — she  might  still  by  courtesy  be  called  a  girl 
— who,  some  twelve  or  fifteen  years  older  than 
her  mistress,  had  been  her  first  and  only  nurse.  Her 
position  in  the  Kensington  house  was  ostensibly  that 
of  Portia's  maid  ;  but  our  heroine,  notwithstanding 
the  affection  she  cherished  for  nurse  Eliza,  was  ac- 
customed to  do  for  herself,  in  the  best  sense  of  this 
familiar  un-Websterian  phrase,  and  beyond  an  occa- 
sional brushing  and  combing  of  her  young  mistress's 
resplendent  locks,  Eliza  found  little  to  do  but  to 
brush  her  riding-habit  and  put  in  her  frillings.  Being, 
however,  of  a  conscientious  turn  of  mind,  she  em- 
ployed her  leisure  in  checking  the  transactions  of 
the  cook  with  the  tradespeople,  and  was  consequent- 


no  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

ly  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  all  the  personnel,  from  the 
butler  downwards.  That  this  woman  would  have 
gone  through  fire  and  water — not  only  metaphorically 
but  actually — to  save  her,  Portia  entertained  not  the 
smallest  doubt.  Eliza  had  had  a  love  disappoint- 
ment, but,  instead  of  being  soured  by  it,  she  had 
turned  the  pent-up  flood  of  her  affections  in  the 
direction  of  her  charge,  and  the  little  girl  had  felt 
herself  borne  along  upon  it,  as  upon  a  smooth,  strong 
current,  tnitil  she  grew  to  womanhood.  Why  she 
did  not  confide  in  her  nurse  during  the  troublous 
time  that  preceded  her  union  with  John  Morrisson  it 
would  be  hard  to  say.  I  am  afraid  it  was  for  the 
reason  that,  though  she  could  make  sure  of  Eliza's 
unbounded  love  and  devotion,  she  did  not  feel  so 
certain  of  her  wisdom  ;  and  here  it  may  be  said  she 
was  mistaken.  Real  affection  is  wonderfully  clair- 
voyant, and  singleness  of  purpose  and  goodness  of 
heart  will  often  dictate  the  proper  thing  to  be  said 
and  done  more  surely  than  the  most  cultivated  in- 
tellect. However  this  may  be,  Portia  never  disclosed 
her  secret  ;  and  though  she  pined  in  thought,  as  she 
did  not  at  the  same  time  wear  an  outward  green  and 
yellow  melancholy,  it  was  not  easy  to  divine  her 
trouble.  Eliza  opined  that  her  young  mistress  could 
have  no  aversion  to  Mr.  John,  after  she  had  kept 
company  with  him  for  all  these  years ;  and  though 
in  her  own  heart  she  considered  him  too  red  and  too 


THE  PENANCE  OF  J  ORTIA  JAMES.  \  \  i 

rough  to  be  a  suitable  match  for  her  young  lady,  she 
would  no  more  have  thought  of  finding  fault  with 
the  arrangement,  than  of  cavilling  at  Mr.  James's 
choice  of  "  old  masters,"  or  of  criticising  Mrs.  James's 
taste  in  dress.  It  was  an  understood  thing  that, 
when  Portia  had  a  house  of  her  own,  nurse  Eliza 
should  go  to  her  in  the  elastic  capacity  of  confidential 
servant ;  and  with  this  prospect  in  view,  and  the  sure 
hope  that  her  mistress  would  find  her  employment 
as  speedily  as  possible,  in  the  shape  of  a  baby  to 
look  after,  she  had  witnessed  the  preparations  for  the 
wedding  with  comparative  equanimity. 

Now,  however,  the  parting  hour  grew  near.  The 
marriage  ceremony  had  been  solemnised.  The  break- 
fast was  over.  The  cake  had  been  cut  and  distributed 
and  in  a  very  few  hours  Portia's  home  would  know 
her  no  more.  Mightily  depressed  by  these  consider- 
ations, which  she  had  never  seemed  to  fully  reahse 
until  now,  Eliza  ascended  to  her  young  mistress's 
room,  with  red-rimmed,  swollen  eyes — she  possessed, 
it  may  be  said,  a  good  and  not  uncomely  face  of 
her  own,  of  plebeian  type — and  implored  that  she 
might  be  allowed  to  do  just  whatever  came  to  hand. 
In  her  secret  heart  Portia,  perhaps,  would  rather  have 
been  left  alone.  Among  the  little  relics  she  still  had 
to  pack  away  there  were  many  over  which  she  would 
faiw  have  lingered  before  burying  them,  and  the  as- 
sociations they  conjured  up,  for  ever  out  of  her  sight. 


112  TUP.  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

I  have  alluded  to  her  innocent  flirtations.  More  than 
one  was  recalled  to  her  as  she  turned  over  the  store 
of  her  girlish  treasures  now.  Her  book  of  pressed 
flowers,  wherein  every  faded  blossom  was  accom- 
panied by  the  name  of  a  place  and  a  date,  was  as  full 
of  eloquent  meaning  to  her  as  though  it  had  contained 
pages  of  burning  poems.  The  chronicle  opened  with 
a  sprig  of  Australian  myrtle  that  John  had  given  her 
years  ago — and  the  hand  in  which  she  had  inscribed 
the  native  name  of  the  place  where  he  had  found  it, 
was  obviously  unformed  and  childish.  But  there 
were  other  chapters  in  the  record  too.  How  fresh 
the  bunch  of  beautiful  wildflowers  from  King  George's 
Sound  still  looked,  and  how  fresh  in  her  mind  was 
the  expression  on  the  face  of  the  blue-eyed  second 
officer  of  the  Ismail  who  had  gathered  them  for  her  ! 
How  plainly  he  had  made  her  understand,  before  she 
left  the  ship,  that  it  was  only  his  sailor-poverty  that 
prevented  him  from  laying  heart  and  hand  at  her  feet ! 
And  the  Alpine  edelweiss  that  a  young  English  traveller 
— who  turned  out  to  be  a  great  personage  at  home, 
and  who  had  spoken  so  mysteriously  and  sadly  about 
the  signification  oiobli!^aiio7is — had  plucked  for  her  ! — 
he  who  had  married  the  very  plain-looking  girl  with 
royal  blood  in  her  veins,  that  had  been  pointed  out  to 
her  in  the  Park  as  his  bride  !  These  and  niany  others. 
How  plainly  they  proved  that  her  heart  had  been 
still  a  rover — all  unknown  to  herself — while  she  was 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  1 13 

addressing  her  fortnightly  duty  epistles  to  her  future 
husband  in  Queensland  !  She  would  fain  have  pon- 
dered over  these  and  many  other  tokens  of  a  past 
happy  existence  (how  far  away  from  her  it  seemed 
already  !)  in  solitude.  There  was  yet  another  volume 
in  which  neither  flowers  were  pressed,  nor  names  of 
places  or  dates  inscribed,  and  which  seemed  never- 
theless to  have  more  to  say  to  her  than  all  the  rest 
together,  and  this  was  none  other  than  the  prosaic 
Academy  catalogue  that  she  had  not  yet  found  it  in 
her  heart  to  part  with,  and  which  she  had  deceitfully 
insinuated,  to  prevent  it  from  being  claimed,  into  one 
of  those  dainty  coverings  in  old  brocades,  wherein 
books  ni  one  sense  can  certainly  be  said  to  wear 
"new  faces."  The  only  message  it  contained  was  in 
the  underlining  in  violet  pencil-marks  of  certain 
paintings,  statues,  and  engravings.  Yet  to  Portia  it 
furnished  a  text  for  many  a  reverie.  In  whatever 
other  respect  nurse  Eliza  might  be  fitted  to  play  the 
role  of  confidante,  it  was  not  upon  topics  like  these  that 
our  heroine  could  unburden  her  mind  to  her.  The 
fancies  suggested  by  her  collection  oi  souvenirs  iniimes 
were  not  of  those  that  can  well  be  uttered  aloud.  So 
delicate  and  fleeting  they  were,  indeed,  that  she  hard- 
ly even  formulated  them  in  her  own  mind.  They 
might  have  been  embodied  in  a  nocturne,  set  in  a 
minor  key,  to  be  deftly  played  in  the  twilight,  but 
nothing  more.      However,  as  she  could  not  ask  Eliza 


114  TJIK  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES. 

to  depart  in  the  face  of  her  tear-swollen  eyes,  and  with 
the  certain  knowledge  that  the  faithful  creature  would 
proceed  to  cry  them  out  in  real  earnest  as  soon  as 
she  was  outside  the  door,  she  busied  her  in  wrapping 
up  and  putting  by  some  indifferent  books  taken  from 
the  book-shelf  for  the  special  purpose — a  work  which 
might  have  been  just  as  well  left,  she  told  herself, 
until  her  return.  Eliza  was  finding  an  outlet  for  her 
emotions  in  banging  and  dusting  these  volumes, 
which  required,  to  tell  the  truth,  neither  form  of  dis- 
cipline, accompanying  the  operation  meanwhile  by 
an  occasional  sniff  of  distress,  when  she  was  suddenly 
summoned  from  the  room.  She  was  away  long 
enough  to  give  Portia  the  time  to  take  up  the  inter- 
rupted train  of  her  somewhat  mournful  meditations 
once  more  ;  and  when  she  returned  it  was  with  a  face 
that  bore  an  important  hint  of  something  unforeseen 
and  mysterious  to  be  communicated. 

"What  has  happened,  Eliza.?"  asked  her  mis- 
tress, quietly.  As  nothing,  not  even  "God  or  devil," 
to  quote  John's  words  (that  somehow  recurred  to  her 
memory  at  this  moment),  could  «?/-marry  her  now, 
Portia  felt  that  the  would-be  importance  expressed 
in  her  maid's  face,  in  connection  with  whatever 
news  she  might  have  to  impart  to  her,  was  clearly 
superfluous  and  uncalled  for.  Supposing  the  kitchen 
chimney  to  be  on  fire,  or  the  Queen  to  have  suddenly 
departed   this  life — the    two   contingencies  that  first 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES.  j  i  5 

suggested  themselves  to  her  imagination — she  would 
none  the  less  have  to  leave  the  house  as  "  Mrs.  John 
Morrisson  "  in  another  two  hours  :  none  the  less  be 
whirled  away,  by  her  husband's  side,  in  the  night- 
train  for  Flushing,  where  it  was  arranged  that  they 
should  rest  until  they  resumed  their  journey  on  the 
morrow.  So  she  repeated  once  more,  in  indifferent 
tones,  "What  has  happened,  Eliza?  Is  anything 
wrong  ? " 

The  maid  shut  the  door  before  replying,  with  the 
same  elaborate  air  of  mystery  that  had  marked  her 
demeanour  from  the  beginning.  There  was  some- 
thing portentous  in  her  expression.  "My  dear," 
she  said — it  was  only  upon  occasions  where  etiquette 
had  to  be  considered  that  she  called  her  young  mis- 
tress "Miss" — "there's  a  lady  below — I  won't 
answer  for  it  she's  a  real  lady,  though — who  says 
she  wants  to  see  you.  I  never  set  eyes  on  her 
before  myself,  and  she's  never  been  near  the  place 
yet  that  /  know  of.  She's  all  in  black,  and  she's 
brought  a  baby  along  with  her.  She  was  that  eager 
and  excited  when  I  went  down,  and  out  o'  breath 
with  running  all  the  way  from  High  Street — so  she 
told  me.  James  wouldn't  let  her  in  until  she  told 
her  business  ;  but  she  wouldn't,  and  they  couldn't 
get  her  to  go  away  neither,  and  so  they  had  to  send 
for  me." 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  see  her,"  said  Portia, 


1 1 6  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

simply;  "but  did  you  ask  her  whether  she  could 
not  send  me  a  message  by  you  ? " 

"  That's  just  what  I  did,"  said  the  maid.  It  would 
not  have  been  in  human  nature — not  in  an  abigail's 
nature,  at  least- — to  refrain  from  the  temptation  of 
making  the  most  of  the  occasion.  "'What  is  your 
business,  ma'am?'  I  said — ^just  like  that.  'Our 
young  lady  is  going  away  on  her  honeymoon 
this  very  afternoon,  and  can't  see  you,''  I  says.  The 
lady  says  nothing  to  that  for  a  good  minute  or  more. 
She  seemed  to  be  catching  her  breath,  like,  behind 
her  veil ;  for  she's  got  a  long  black  veil,  that  thick 
you  can't  hardly  see  her  face  through  it.  Then  she 
says,  in  a  kind  of  a  choked  voice,  *  So  Miss  James 
is  married ! '  she  says.  '  Married  this  mornmg, 
ma'am,'  says  I.  'Well,'  says  she,  holding  her 
throat — this  way — '  I  hope  you'll  let  me  see  her. 
I've  got  a  present  for  her;  it's  a  present  no  one  can 
give  her  but  me.  Perhaps  she'll  take  it  along  with 
her  on  her  wedding-trip.  Ask  her  to  see  me  for  her 
own  sake,  if  she  won't  see  me  for  mine, '  and  with 
that  she  outs  with  a  pencil  and  a  bit  of  paper  from 
her  pocket,  hitches  her  baby  under  her  arm,  and 
scribbles  off  a  letter  as  fast  as  you  please  ;  and  noth- 
ing '11  content  her  after  that  but  we  must  fetch  her  a 
henvelope  from  below  stairs,  and  she  must  gum  it 
down  herself." 

Having  improved  the  occasion  to  her  own  satis- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  ny 

faction  as  regarded  the  agreeable  and  stimulating 
task  of  narrating  all  the  preliminaries  m  ex/enso, 
Eliza  now  bethought  herself  of  handing  the  letter  to 
her  mistress.  Portia  took  it  from  her  with  irresolute 
hands.  What  possible  reference  to  her  own  affairs 
could  the  affairs  of  the  mysterious  visitor  involve.'' 
And  why  should  she  have  chosen  her  wedding-day 
of  all  others  as  the  one  upon  which  to  divulge  the 
secret.?  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  agitated 
anticipation  as  she  tore  the  envelope  open.  Was  it 
relief,  was  it  disappointment,  was  it  simple  astonish- 
ment that  was  painted  in  her  face  as  she  read  :  "It 
is  Mary  Willett  that  begs  and  prays  of  you  to  see 
her — the  daughter  of  John  Willett,  of  Yarraman 
Station.  I  would  have  come  before,  but  1  only  just 
heard  by  chance  an  hour  ago  that  you  were  getting 
married  to  Mr.  Morrisson,  For  the  love  of  Heaven, 
Miss  James,  let  me  see  you  alone.  I  won't  delay 
you  long." 

Mary  Willett !  The  girl  who  was  to  join  her  father 
at  the  dear  old  homestead  Portia  had  loved  so  well  ! 
The  little  lass,  about  whom  she  had  heard  so  much 
and  so  often  from  old  John,  as  she  galloped  by  his 
side  round  the  station  fences  !  The  person  about 
whom  she  had  asked,  before  all  others,  to  be  informed 
at  her  first  memorable  interview  with  her  lover  six 
weeks  ago.  Mary  Willett  in  London,  and  in  distress 
— most  evidently  in  distress  !     Oh,  why  had  not  she 


Il8  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

known  it  before?  Of  course  she  would  see  her,  of 
course  she  would  help  her  1  The  trouble  whatever 
it  might  be,  was  clearly  one  that  concerned  poor 
Mary  alone.  But  perhaps  she  had  felt  a  dcHcacy  in 
speaking  of  it  before  strangers,  and  had  therefore  pur- 
posely tried  to  give  the  impression  that  it  was  con- 
nected with  a  matter  concerning  Portia  herself. 
Well,  she  had  still  two  hours — three  nearly — that  she 
could  call  her  own.  It  was  a  pity  that  all  questions 
of  money  settlements  should  have  been  deferred 
until  after  her  marriage,  and  that  at  this  moment  she 
should  have  nothing  but  fifteen  sovereigns  and  some 
odd  silver  in  her  possession.  Mary  might  need  im- 
mediate help,  and  she  must  have  it.  Thinking  these 
things  over  in  the  flash  of  an  instant,  Portia  turned 
to  the  eagerly-expectant  Eliza,  and  disappointed  her 
cruelly  by  announcing  in  a  calm  voice,  "It  is  noth- 
ing, really  nothing,  Eliza  ;  someone  who  has  been 
recommended  to  me.  I  know  the  name  quite  well  ; 
and  I  ought  to  see  her  alone,  I  think,  as  she  makes 
such  a  point  of  it." 

A  drama  that  was  destined  not  to  go  beyond  the 
prologue — a  tale  brought  to  an  immediate  and  unex- 
pected close,  just  as  it  had  been  launched  upon  the 
significant  opening  of  "  Once  upon  a  while  "  !  This, 
in  other  words,  was  the  comment  that  Eliza,  swal- 
lowing her  disappointment  as  best  she  could,  was 
fain  to  pass  upon  the  abrupt  termination  to  tlio  inci- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  119 

dent  so  full  of  promise  that  she  had  witnessed.  She 
felt  irritated  with  the  young  woman  in  black  for  hav- 
ing made  "such  a  fuss  all  about  nothing,  "  as  she 
complained  to  herself,  and  her  irritation  was  expressed 
in  the  tart  way  in  which  she  delivered  the  message, 
"that  Miss  James — Mrs.  Morrisson,  that  was  to  say 
— will  be  pleased  to  see  you  if  you'll  step  this  way  ; 
but  it's  as  well  to  remember"  (the  addition  was  her 
own)  "she  hasn't  a  minute  to  spare." 

Portia  was  standing  up  to  receive  them,  as  Mary, 
holding  her  baby  upon  her  left  arm.  entered  the  room. 
The  deep  black  veil  prevented  her  from  distinguish- 
ing at  first  sight  the  features  of  her  visitor  ;  but  when 
Eliza  had  beaten  a  reluctant  retreat,  and  had  closed 
the  door  finally  in  her  wake,  Mary  threw  back  her 
veil,  and  Portia  uttered  an  involuntary  cry  of  surprise. 
The  vision  that  had  pursued  her  for  so  long  was 
standing  there  in  flesh  and  blood  before  her.  The 
dim  presentment  of  Harry's  Madonna  and  Infant  that 
had  intruded  itself  upon  her  dreams  at  night,  that  had 
been  shadowed  forth  during  her  solitary  musings  in 
the  daytime,  had  become  a  living,  breathing  reality. 
The  one  presentiment  she  had  ever  known  had  been 
suddenly  and  miraculously  verified.  "But,  oh  !  how- 
could  I  feel,  when  I  saw  the  picture  first,"  she  asked 
herself  in  bewilderment,  "that  it  spoke  to  me  of 
something  I  had  vaguely  seen  and  known  already .? 
Was  it  a  warning  of  what  was  to  come .''     But,  no  I 


I20  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

It  was  more  like  a  groping  after  something  I  had 
lost." 

The  answer  to  her  question  was  to  come  sooner 
than  she  could  have  anticipated.  The  explanation 
of  the  mystery  that  had  hart.nited  her  so  long  and  so 
persistently  was  to  fall  up^n  her  comprehension  at 
last  like  a  thunderbolt.  Before  she  had  well-nieh 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  surprise  that  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  the  Madonna  in  the  person  of 
Mary  Willett  had  occasioned  her,  the  latter  had  made 
a  rapid  step  forward,  and  was  thrusting  the  baby — 
a  solemn-eyed  baby  that  neither  cried  nor  laughed — 
into  her  arms. 

"  Take  him,"  she  was  saying  hysterically,  as  Portia 
mechanically  stretched  out  her  arms  for  the  child, 
"  take  him  and  keep  him.  Oh  !  it's  no  time  for  com- 
pliments, Miss  James  ;  if  you'd  been  through  what  I 
have,  you  wouldn't  stop  to  make  compliments  either. 
Take  him  and  look  at  him  well.  He's  John  Morris- 
son's  child,  if  you  want  to  know.  He's  nobody  else's. 
He's  my  present  to  John  Morrisson  and  his  wife  on 
their  wedding-day.  You  may  give  him  a  lot  of  chil- 
dren yet,  but  you  won't  give  him  any  that'll  be  more 
like  their  father.  You  can  tell  him  so  from  me,  if  you 
choose.  Oh,  my  God,  my  God  !  what'll  become  of 
us  all !  " 

The  last  exclamation  was  accompanied  by  a  burst 
of  mirelieving,  agonising  tears.     She  had  sunk  down 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES.  121 

upon  the  first  chair  that  came  to  hand,  and  was  rock- 
ing herself  to  and  fro  in  a  reckless  abandonment  of 
despair,  as  one  who  had  passed  the  point  at  which 
self-restraint  and  dignity  of  demeanour  arc  any  longer 
considerations  worth  taking  into  account 


CHAPTER  X. 

And  Portia  !  Portia  stood,  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms  (he  had  submitted  to  the  transfer,  and  had  even 
let  his  head  nestle  eigainst  her  shoulder  without  any- 
kind  of  protest),  as  one  turned  to  stone.  For  a  mo- 
ment her  brain  seemed  to  refuse  to  act.  Overwhelm- 
ing as  the  revelation  she  had  just  heard  had  been, 
impossible  of  realization,  or  even  of  comprehension, 
as  it  had  appeared,  there  was  yet  even  more  behind 
it  than  Mary  herself  knew.  For  here,  with  her  hus- 
band's child  in  her  arms,  with  John's  very  eyes 
looking  up  towards  her  from  the  baby  face,  with 
John's  tasting  lips  repeated  in  the  baby  mouth,  the 
haunting  signifiance  of  Harry's  picture  had  finally 
come  home  to  Portia's  understanding  once  and  for- 
ever. If  presentiment  had  had  its  say,  there  had  been 
a  tangible  association  of  ideas  as  well.  Flow  could 
she  have  failed  to  see  the  resemblance  before  !  Why 
need  she  h?  .e  waited  until  the  fatal,  the  irretrievable 
step  that  sealed  her  doom  had  been  taken  before  she 
thought  of  coupling  the  face  of  the  infant  in  the  pic- 
ture with  the  face  of  the  man  she  called  her  husband  ! 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  123 

Oh,  fool  that  she  had  been,  and  fool — a  thousand  times 
fool — to  let  her  heart  be  moved  by  the  ready  lies  he 
had  told  her  !  He  faithful  and  constant,  serving  his 
time  for  her  in  the  bush,  as  Jacob  had  served  his  seven 
years  for  his  vi'ell-beloved  Rachel  !  He  a  Sir  Galahad 
among-  men,  as  she  had  innocently  believed  him  to 
be  !  She  could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  laugh 
out  loud,  bitterly  and  scornfully,  at  her  ovi-n  utter 
foolishness  and  credulity.  Well,  the  awakening  had 
come,  and  it  was  a  thorough  one.  All  the  written 
and  spoken  arguments  in  the  world,  all  the  proofs 
that  poets  and  philosophers  had  ever  accumulated  of 
the  truth  of  the  simple  statement  that  "men  were 
deceivers  ever,"  gathered  in  a  heap  before  her,  could 
not  have  brought  such  strong,  such  overwhelming 
conviction  as  the  one  short  damnatory  experience  of 
the  last  few  seconds.  Her  brain  seemed  literally  to 
reel  under  the  shock,  her  knees  to  give  way  under  her. 
It  was  necessary  to  pull  herself  together,  physically 
as  well  as  morally,  to  call  her  best  energies  up  be- 
fore considering  what  now  remained  to  be  done.  She 
felt  as  though  she  had  leaped  at  one  bound  from  in- 
nocent, ignorant  girlhood  into  mature  and  cynical 
womanhood.  Never  could  she  feel  the  same  again  ! 
Never  could  the  world  put  on  the  same  aspect  that 
it  had  worn  only  five  minutes  ago  !  Never  could  men 
and  women,  and  the  relations  they  bore  to  each  other, 
become  the  same  that  she  had  fancied  them  only  this 


124  ^-^^  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

morning  !  But  it  was  not  a  tin:ie  for  dealing-  with  the 
abstract  side  of  the  question.  There  would  be  time 
for  that  later.  Anna  Ross  would  help  to  achieve  the 
work  of  enlightenment  in  which  Portia  herself  had 
taken  so  tremendous  a  step  on  this  her  wedding  morn- 
ing. At  the  present  moment  it  was  action — not  re- 
flection— that  was  needed.  What  if  Mary  Willett  were 
secretly  married  to  John  .?  God  forgive  her,  but  it 
would  be  the  most  acceptable  solution  of  the  trouble 
that  she  could  imagine  !  Her  heart  gave  a  bound  at 
the  thought  that  even  now  she  might  be  legally  as 
well  as  morally  free.  But  it  sank  again  as  she  re- 
flected upon  the  improbability  of  John's  having  per- 
formed such  a  transparently  and  easily  detected  feat 
of  bigamy.  But  time  was  speeding,  and  she  would 
want  to  escape.  At  all  costs,  and  whatever  should 
betide,  escape  was  the  first  and  only  consideration. 
Let  her  only  try  now  to  keep  cool,  and  to  get  at  the 
rights  of  this  wonderful  story.  With  a  mighty  effort 
at  self-control,  she  drew  near  to  where  Mary  was 
seated,  and  still  holding  John's  child  tenderly  upon 
her  arm  (it  is  w^onderful  with  what  an  instinctive 
knack  of  tenderness  every  true  woman,  be  she  maid 
or  mother,  will  hold  a  little  baby),  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  sobbing  girl's,  and  said  gently  :  "Tell  me 
all  about  it,  and  how  I  can  help  you,  Mary.  We 
have  known  each  other  in  one  way,  haven't  we, 
since  we  were  quite  children.?     This  is  a  trouble  that 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  125 

concerns  us  both,  and  I  must  know  all  there  is  to 
know  before  anything  can  be  clone.  First  of  all,  are 
you  married  to  John  Morrisson  ?  " 

"No,  no!  I'm — I'm  not,"  sobbed  Mary ;  "that's 
where  it  is.  That's  why  I'm  fit  to  drown  myself,  if 
it  wasn't  for  the  baby.  Oh,  ray  God  !  my  God  ! 
What  is  to  become  of  me  and  him  ?  " 

There  was  no  getting  her  to  speak  in  her  present 
condition.  Portia  drew  a  chair  by  her  side,  and  sate 
herself  down,  with  the  little  one  on  her  knees,  to  re- 
flect upon  the  situation.  She  felt  as  though  she  were 
under  the  influence  of  one  of  those  portentous  dreams, 
such  as  Jane  Eyre  dreamed  the  night  before  she  fled 
from  Mr.  Rochester — such  as  most  people  have 
dreamed  when  the  air  about  them  is  thick  with  im- 
pending disaster — a  dream  wherein  she  found  herself 
carrying  a  wailing  infant  in  her  arms,  with  the  im- 
possibility of  either  laying  it  down  or  ridding  herself 
of  the  burden.  But  in  her  sleep  the  dreary  nightmare 
had  never  weighed  upon  her  with  the  force  of  her 
actual  impressions.  .  .  .  And  who  was  there  to 
whom  she  could  turn  for  help  or  counsel }  Who  that 
would  assist  her  now  to  put  herself  entirely  out  of 
John's  reach  .?  For  as  long  as  he  knew  where  to  find 
her,  there  could  be  no  safety,  no  refuge  for  her. 
Others  might  laugh  at  her  fears  ;  they  might  say  that 
in  London,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the  drama 
whereby  the  Sabine  maidens  became  Roman  spouses 


126  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

was  one  that  could  not  well  be  repeated.  But  Portia 
knew  better.  She  knew  that  John  considered  himself 
literally  in  the  light  of  her  legal  lord  and  master  now 
— of  her  owner,  if  it  came  to  that.  She  had  seen  it 
in  his  eyes  as  they  drove  home  together  in  the  broug 
ham  a  while  ago  as  man  and  wife.  She  had  seen  it 
in  the  avidity  that  marked  his  unresting  lips.  She 
had  heard  it  in  the  voice  in  which  he  declared  that 
neither  God  nor  devil  could  take  her  from  him  now. 
Well  !  that  might  turn  out  to  have  been  a  vain  boast 
after  all.  She  had  money  enough,  thank  Heaven  ! 
to  enable  her  to  run  away  and  hide  herself  for  to-day 
at  least,  and  before  they  had  found  her  she  would 
have  made  up  her  mind  as  to  the  course  of  action  she 
should  take.  She  would  begin  by  putting  herself 
under  the  protection  of  Anna  Ross,  whose  actual 
whereabouts  was  known  to  none  of  them.  But  time 
pressed,  and  there  was  still  so  much  to  do.  Hardly 
an  hour  in  which  to  lay  her  plans  and  make  her 
escape.  And  there  was  Mary  to  be  thought  of,  and 
the  baby.  And  how  were  they  to  make  their  way 
out  of  the  house  without  being  seen  and  followed  ! 
And  how  should  she  herself  escape  pursuit  and  re- 
capture .?  The  very  recklessness  of  her  project — the 
danger  attending  it — seemed  to  inspire  Portia  with 
courage.  Her  resolution  rose  as  she  measured  the 
difficulty  of  her  enterprise.  Just  as  the  bodily  frame 
will  perform  unheard-of  feats  under  the  spur  of  some 


TI/E   PENANCE  OF  rORT/A  JAMES.  127 

tremendous  excitation,  so,  in  rare  crises,  the  mind 
will  act  with  quite  a  new  and  unwonted  energy. 
During  the  interval  that  Portia  accorded  Mary  for 
crying  lout  so7i  soul  (as  the  French  say) — in  other 
words,  for  sobbing  her  very  heart  out — by  her  side, 
she  had  arranged  her  plan  of  escape.  The  calm  that 
comes  of  a  supreme  resolution  irrevocably  taken  was 
in  her  voice  as  she  addressed  herself  again  to  the 
latter. 

"  You  had  better  tell  me  all,  Mary,"  she  said  gently. 
"I  am  sure  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you.  Take  your 
little  one  into  your  arms  again — so — there.  He  was 
just  going  to  cry,  and  then  what  should  we  have  done  .?" 

"  You're  too  g-good  to  me,  miss,"  gurgled  Mary, 
breaking  down  once  more  ;  she  took  the  child  never- 
theless and,  Portia — with  a  spasm  of  wonderment, 
wherein  a  thousand  confused  sensations  of  pity,  re- 
volt, tenderness,  and  repulsion  (the  instincts  of  wife- 
hood, motherhood,  and  nature,  arrayed  against  what 
Carlyle  would  have  called  the  artificialities  of  her 
actual  existence)  fought  a  tour  de  role  to  get  the  up- 
per hand — saw  her  gather  the  little  creature  to  her 
bosom  for  nourishment.  The  simple  operation  of 
such  sublime  significance  withal  had  an  instantly 
pacifying  effect  upon  mother  and  child.  Portia 
thought  of  a  certain  line  in  a  poem  she  knew  by  heart  : 
'  Baby  fingers,  waxen  touches  press  me  from  the  mother's  breast," 
with  quite  a  new  understanding  of  its    meaning.     In 


128  THE  PEXANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES  . 

the  childless  surroundings  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  all  her  life  the  ways  of  mothers  and  their  offspring 
had  been  as  a  sealed  book  to  her.     The  ineffable  con- 
tent in  the  eyes  of  the  little  one — John's  very  eyes — 
moved  her    with    an    inllnite    pity.      Not    only    were 
mothers  and  children,    but  a    woman    placed  in    the 
circumstances  in  which   Mary    had  appeared  before 
her,  equally  novel  facts  in  her  experience.     She   had 
read  of  such    cases,  certainly.     David  Cop  per  field, iox 
instance,  was  well  known  to  her;  and  the  impression 
she  had  retained  from  her  reading  of  that  and  similar 
works  was   that  a    "  fallen  "  girl   (for  this  she  knew 
was  the   approved  adjective  to  employ  in    cases  so 
analogous  to  Mary's) — that  a  "  fallen"  woman  must 
be  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of  moral  leper,  whose  very 
skirts   it  would  be   a  contamination    for   an  "honest 
woman "  to  touch.      Now,    however,   that  she    was 
drawing  her  experience  no   longer   from    books,  but 
from  real  living  facts,  the   matter  seemed   to  put  on 
quite  a  different  aspect.     No  tragic  phrases  suggested 
themselves  to  her  imagination  ;  nor  did  they,  appar- 
ently, to    IMary's.      Her    mental    attitude  (as   George 
Eliot  would  have  said)  was  not  one  of  anger  or  indig- 
nation, but   rather   of  a   great    and    sorrowing   pity. 
Mary  had  probably  been  deceived  by  John  as  she  had 
been  deceived  herself,  and  had  believed  that,  Church 
or  no  Church,  she  was  wedded    to  him,  in  point  of 
fact,  for  time  and  eternity. 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  129 

"  Tell  me  how  this  trouble  came  upon  you,  Mary," 
she  asked  once  more.  "  I  can  be  going  on  with  my 
preparations  while  you  are  talking." 

Truth  to  tell,  there  was  little  time  to  lose.  She  had 
unstrapped  an  ancient  valise  of  small  dimensions — 
it  was  one  of  those  she  had  intended  to  take  upon  her 
wedding-trip,  with  the  naive  design  of  concealing  the 
fact  that  she  was  a  bride — and  bundling  out  (for  she 
was  in  a  desperate  hurry)  all  that  bore  her  new  and 
hated  name,  she  thrust  into  it  such  of  her  former 
articles  of  attire  as  might  be  required  for  immediate 
use.  The  tailor-made  suit  was  next  disinterred  from 
its  hiding-place — it  would  be  just  the  thing  to  travel 
in — and  away  with  her  bridal  bravery  ;  was  she  not 
going  to  regain  her  freedom  }  All  the  time  she  was 
moving  nimbly  about  the  room,  making  her  neces- 
sary and  speedy  preparations  (and  perhaps  marvel- 
ling a  little  at  her  own  promptitude  of  action  in  an 
emergency),  she  was  encouraging  Mary  to  make  full 
and  open  confession. 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  I  see  how  it  was.  Oh,  what 
a  pity  !  Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  the  rest,  Mary."  With 
such  intercalations  she  contrived  to  extract  from  the 
unwilling  lips  of  the  weeping  girl  the  tale  of  her  own 
ruin. 

"You  see,  miss,"  she  began — Portia  would  have 
been  the  first  to  resent  the  employment  of  her  new 
and    rightful    title — "I    was    pretty    near    the    only 

9 


130  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

woman  at  Yarraman  when  I  went  out  that  time  (  af- 
ter you'd  gone  away,  you  know)  to  keep  house  for 
father.  There  was  a  lot  of  meu  about  the  place ; 
but  father,  he  used  to  keep  me  pretty  well  by  his  side 
when  he'd  be  out  counting  the  lambs  in  the  home 
paddock,  maybe,  or  seeing  to  things  about  the 
place.  He'd  be  so  sorry  you  was  gone.  He  thought 
a  lot  of  mc,  you  know,  miss,  and  he'd  say,  '  You 
wouldn't  have  wanted  for  someone  to  talk  to,  my 
dear,  if  Miss  Portia  had  a-been  here.'  He  thought 
no  one  was  too  good  for  me — poor  father  "  (  a  pro- 
found sigh  accompanied  these  words,  followed  by 
a  long  pause).  "Well,  I  don't  suppose  I'd  been 
three  weeks  at  the  station — and  pretty  dull  I  found 
it,  I  can  tell  you  ;  it  was  in  the  January,  and  the 
place  so  burned  up  you  couldn't  walk  over  it  for  the 
cracks  in  the  ground — it  was  almost  three  weeks, 
you  may  say,  after  I'd  come  up  that  Mr.  Morrisson 
wrote  word  to  say  he  was  coming.  I'd  heard  say  you 
was  engaged  to  him,  and  I  was  curious  enough 
to  see  him.  I  used  to  go  up  of  an  evening  to 
the  verandah  at  the  homestead  after  I'd  taken  a  dip 
in  the  water-hole — you  remember,  miss,  the  water- 
hole  in  the  bed  of  the  creek — and  let  down  my  back- 
hair  to  dry,  I  was  sitting  that  way  one  evening 
when  a  gentleman  comes  riding  up — yow  may  guess 
who  he  was — and  seems  -struck  of  a  heap,  like, 
to  see  me.     And  that  was  just  how  it  all  begun.     I 


THE  PENANCE  OF  rORTIA  JAMES.  131 

couldn't  but  think  a  little  of  him  after  that.  It  was 
like  as  if  he'd  been  so  pleased  and  so  astonished  at 
finding  me  there.  He  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off 
me  at  first.  And  I  believed  what  he  told  me, 
miss.  I  believed  it  as  if  it  was  Gospel  truth.  He 
told  me  he  had  been  engaged  to  you  once  on  a 
while,  but  that  you  wanted  to  break  it  off.  He  said  I 
was  the  only  person  in  the  world  that  could  console 
him — and,  miss,  he  spoke  that  soft  and  loving  I 
couldn't  help  believing  him.  Father  never  thought 
any  harm.  So  long  as  Mr.  Morrisson  was  there  he'd 
go  off  to  the  township,  or  go  riding  round  the  fences. 
He  was  away  two  days  and  a  night  once,  with  a  fire 
that  had  broken  out  on  the  next  run  and  partly  on 
ours." 

"And  Mr.  Morrisson  was  in  charge,  I  suppose.-*" 
put  in  Portia,  shaking  out  the  tailor-made  dress,  and 
placing  it  in  readiness  to  put  on. 

"Yes,  he  was  in  charge,"  said  Mary,  reluctantly; 
"and,  miss,  I  did  believe  in  him  then.  There  was 
nothing  I  wouldn't  have  done  for  him.  I  believe  Id 
have  blacked  his  boots  for  him  if  he'd  asked  me. 
But  he  didn't.  He  came  down  to  the  cottage,  and 
he  got  me  to  go  up  to  the  homestead  and  dine  with 
him.  Me  and  him  all  alone.  And  he  told  me  it  was 
just  like  as  if  we  were  man  and  wife  already,  for  we 
was  to  go  down  to  be  married  the  very  week  after  in 
Melbourne.     Oh  !     I  did  believe  him,  miss.     He  told 


132  THE  PENANCE  OF  FORI  I  A  JAMES. 

nie  he  only  didn't  speak  to  father  because  father  d 
got  it  into  his  head  that  he  was  bound  to  marry jv-oa 
— and  there  !  I  believe  my  head  was  turned.  He 
waited  on  me  at  that  dinner  as  if  I  was  a  queen  ; 
he'd  pour  out  Ihc  champagne  for  me  with  his  own 
hands,  and  he  said  it  would  be  always  like  that. 
He  called  me  Mrs.  Morrisson,  and  he  praised  me  up 
to  the  skies  and,  oh  !  miss,  I  was  a  wicked,  foolish 
girl — but  more  foolish  than  wicked,  I  believe.  "Well  ! 
I've  been  punished  enough  since." 

"And  afterwards.?"  asked  Portia — her  voice 
sounded  dry  in  her  own  ears.  "I  want  to  know 
how  you  came  to  leave  your  home." 

"What  could  I  do  else.?"  cried  Mary;  there  was 
helpless  despair  in  her  accents.  "Soon  after,  I  pre- 
tended to  poor  father  I  must  go  down  to  Melbourne  to 
stop  with  a  board-ship  friend.  Mr,  Morrisson  was  in 
Queensland.  He  hadn't  sent  for  me  as  he  promised, 
and  I  was  beside  myself  with  terror  and  misery.  But 
he  came  back  before  my  baby  was  born — and,  if 
you'll  believe  it,  miss,  father  found  out  what  was  the 
matter — and,  miss,  it  broke  his  heart.  The  doctors 
said  afterwards  his  heart  had  always  been  weak  ; 
but  that  makes  no  difference — it  was  I  killed  him. 
Oh  !  I  can't  speak  of  it,  miss,"  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  handkerchief  and  broke  into  a  fresh  wail  of 
anguish.  "  I've  not  been  to  look  after  the  money  or 
anything,  fori  feel  just  as  though  I'd  murdered  him. 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  133 

Well,  when  my   baby  was  born,  Mr.    Morrisson  let 
me  know  pretty  clearly  he'd  no  intention  of  marry- 
ing me,  and  I  hadn't  any  hold  upon  him.      I  cursed 
him,  I  did,   in  father's  name  and  my  own  ;  but  he 
didn't  care  for  that.      He  said  he'd  send  me  money 
as  long  as  I  gave  him  no  more  trouble — and,  per- 
haps, when  his  Queensland  business  was  settled  up, 
he'd  think  about  marrying  me,  after  all.     But  I  must 
go  to  America,  he  said,  where  I  wasn't  known,  and 
he'd  send  me   money  and   come  to  join   me  later. 
Well,  I  had  no  choice,  it  seemed.      I  went  off  to  San 
Francisco  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  INIorris  ;  but  after 
I'd  stayed  there  eating  my  heart  out  for  six  weeks  or 
more,  I  made   up   my  mind  to   come  on   home  and 
wait  for  him.      It  seemed  more  home-like  in  London 
— and  I  had  an  aunt  here  too  ;  but  she  died  before  I 
could  join  her.     I  told  the  woman  I  was  lodging  with 
in  San  Francisco  to  send  me  on  my  money  and  my 
letters  ;  but  from   the   day  I  left  I've   never  heard  a 
word  of  her  or  of  Mr.  Morrisson  either  until  to-day, 
and  it  was  only  by  a  chance,   when  I  was  posing — 
that's  what  they  call  it,  miss,  when  you're  sitting  for 
your  portrait  (not  quite  your  portrait,  you  know,  but 
to  figure  in  a  picture  under  anybody  else's  name) — 
while  I  was  posing  in  young  Mr.  Tolhurst's  studio, 
miss — ah  !   that's  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian,  if  you 
like — that  I  found  out  you  was  going  to  be  married 
this  morning,  and  who  to,     I  thought  I  should  have 


134  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

died,  miss,  on  the  spot.  I  took  up  my  baby  and  I  ran 
out  of  the  house  as  though  1  were  mad — Mr.  Tolhurst 
did  think  I  was  mad,  I  believe — and  I  ran  for  a  cab 
and  drove  all  the  way  to  the  church  thinking  I'd  stop 
the  banns  ;  but  it  was  too  late,  and  I  got  out  and  ran 
straight  here. " 

"  But  how  did  you  find  out?  and  who  to^d  you.?  " 
questioned  Portia.      "Not  Mr.  Tolhurst,  was  it?" 

She  had  turned  her  face  away  as  she  made  the  in- 
quiry, feigning  to  be  absorbed  once  more  in  the 
arrangement  of  her  wearing  apparel  in  the  valise. 

"Mr.  Tolhurst?  No,  miss.  I  believe  it  was  Pro- 
vidence. In  the  picture  he's  doing  of  me — leastways 
it  is  me,  though  he's  called  it '  News  from  the  Camp,' 
— I've  got  to  be  sitting  reading  a  newspaper.  Many's 
the  time  he's  put  ^  papet  in  my  hand  before;  but, 
bless  you,  I  never  thought  o'  looking  at  what  was 
printed  in  it.  But  this  morning,  of  all  mornings  in 
the  world,  I  must  needs  fix  my  eyes  on  the  very  lines 
that  told  about  you  and  Mr.  Morrisson.  To  be  mar- 
ried on  the  27th,  it  said — and  there  was  the  name  of 
the  church  and  all  !  " 

She  paused,  and  for  a  long  time  Portia  made  no  com- 
ment. What  she  had  been  thinking,  however,  might 
almost  have  been  divined  by  her  expression  as  she 
turned  her  face  towards  Mary  and  said  slowly  : 

"It  was  with  the  idea  of  preventing  the  marriage 
that  you  came  to  the  church,  I  suppose  ?  " 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  135 

The  other  hung-  her  head.  "Miss,  I  was  beside 
myself.  To  have  my  baby  branded  for  base-born  all 
his  life — him  that's  got  his  father's  face,  that  it'ud 
have  been  a  pride  and  a  pleasure  to  see  'em  together 
— it  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  I  ought  to  have 
thought  about  you.  Why,  when  I  came  running  on 
here  awh^e  ago,  well-nigh  out  of  my  mind,  I  couldn't 
tell  but  what  you'd  have  me  put  outside  the  door  by 
the  servants.  But  I  didn't  seem  to  care.  Oh,  miss, 
you  are  a  young  lady  !— you  was  never  in  the  way 
of  being  tempted  as  I  was,  and  I  don't  want  to  excuse 
myself;  but  I  had  no  mother  by  me,  and  Mr.  Morris- 
son  he  did  speak  so  fair. " 

She  had  begun  to  weep  afresh.  Tears  seemed, 
indeed,  to  be  the  only  relief  to  the  sense  of  rankling 
injury  that  she  evidently  carried  about  with  her. 
Portia  compassionated  her — and  with  sincerity — but, 
at  this  moment,  she  was  thinking  more  of  her  own 
case  than  of  Mary's.  If  Providence  had  indeed  directed 
her  eyes,  as  Mary  had  said,  to  that  newspaper  par- 
agraph, why  could  it  not  have  happened  only  just 
one  hour  earlier.?  She  would  have  had  no  occasion 
to  play  the  part  of  a  runaway  wife  then.  How  easily 
matters  might  still  have  been  arranged  before  the  fatal 
"  I  will  "  had  been  pronounced — before  her  hand  had 
traced  so  unwillingly  the  unreal,  unfamiliar  signature 
of  Portia  Morrisson  in  the  book  they  had  set  before 
her.     Perhaps  Mary's  eyes  had  fallen  upon  the  para- 


136  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

graph  at  the  very  instant  when  John  had  uttered  aloud 
his  blasphemous  boast.  He  had  dared  something- 
more  than  Providence  to  take  her  away  from  him, 
she  remembered.  In  obedience  to  which  form  of 
power  was  she  going-  to  prove  to  him  now  how  vain 
that  boast  had  been.?  "But  1  cannot  reason  it  out 
at  this  moment,"  she  reflected  hurriedly.  "There  is 
only  one  thing- 1  am  clear  about.  I  must  get  out  of 
his  way  as  fast  as  ever  I  can." 

Her  little  valise  was  packed  by  this  time.  Her 
wedding-ring,  John's  engagement-ring,  and  such  other 
costly  gifts  as  he  had  bought  her  were  left  scattered 
upon  the  table.  She  took  her  watch,  her  diamond 
earrings,  and  one  or  two  valuables.  Of  the  fifteen 
sovereigns  which  represented  all  the  money  she  could 
lay  her  hands  upon,  she  pressed  five  upon  her  visitor 
wherewith  to  buy  a  present  for  the  baby. 

"And  now,  Mary,"  she  said  in  a  firm  voice,  after 
all  these  arrangements  were  concluded,  "  I  owe  you 
a  lifelong  debt  of  gratitude.  You  have  saved  me  from 
taking  a  step  I  should  have  repented  more  bitterly 
than  I  can  say.  I  am  not  going  away  with — with 
Mr.  Morrisson.  I  don't  look  upon  him  as  my  hus- 
band at  all.  Go  back  to  your  lodgings  now  and  leave 
me  your  address.  Mr.  Morrisson  shall  be  sent  to  you 
to-day.  He  is  yours,  and  not  mine  ;  and  if  the  law 
cannot  be  made  to  interfere  (which  I  think  it  can  be), 
we  must  act  for  ourselves.       I  am  going    to  some 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  137 

friends — for  I  must  be  out  of  the  way  ;  but  I  shall  con- 
trive to  hear  how  you  are  getting  on,  and  I  will  see 
that  justice  is  done  you.  My  own  marrieige  is  no 
marriage.  Yours  is  the  only  real  one  " — she  stopped 
short — the  phrases  in  Anna's  letter  suggested  them- 
selves to  her  memory.  Was  there  such  a  thing  as 
real  marriage  at  all .?  "  Now  you  had  better  go  ;  you 
have  carried  out  the  thing  you  came  for." 

"And — and  you're  not  angry,  miss,"  stammered 
Mary,  rising  with  a  bewildered  air.  Burning  resent- 
ment, a  bitter  desire  for  vengeance,  hatred  towards 
her  betrayer,  a  deeper  hatred  perhaps  towards  her 
rival,  the  woman  he  was  about  to  marry — all  these 
feelings  had  held  her  in  their  power  as  she  entered 
the  room.  Now  they  had  given  way  to  astonishment 
and  gratitude.  Astonishment,  perhaps,  was  the 
uppermost  feeling  of  the  two. 

That  a  newly-married  bride,  on  the  point  of  starting 
off  on  her  wedding-trip  with  the  bridegroom,  should 
renounce  her  honeymoon  and  her  husband  as  easily 
as  though  they  had  been  represented  by  a  ball-room 
partner  and  a  round  dance,  was  a  phenomenon  un- 
dreamed of  in  her  philosophy.  What  she  had  intended 
to  bring  about  by  her  denunciation  she  was  not 
quite  clear.  Vengeance  had  been  the  sentiment  that 
had  mainly  dictated  her  action.  She  had  felt  on  her 
way  to  the  church  as  a  Paris  vitrioleuse  (if  there  be  such 
a  word)  might  feel  on  her  way  to  blast  a  hated  rival. 


138  THE  PENANCE  OF  FOKTIA  JAMES. 

And  here  she  had  been  received  with  pitying  cuii- 
sideration  and  words  of  gentlest  sympathy.  Her  rival 
had  not  only  taken  her  by  the  hand  and  kindly  in- 
vited her  confidence,  but  had  actually  ceded  the  place 
to  her.  It  was  inexplicable.  Perhaps  it  was  educa- 
tion that  did  it.  It  might  not  be  considered  manners 
in  Miss  James's  world  to  show  one's  feelings  upon 
occasions  like  the  present  one.  Nevertheless,  before 
she  went  away,  Mary  placed  her  child  for  the  second 
time  in  Portia's  arms.  But  the  gesture  that  accom- 
panied the  action  was  as  different  from  the  former 
one  as  the  expression  she  now  wore  on  her 
face. 

"  I  can't  say  all  that's  in  my  mind,  miss,"  she  said 
in  trembling  tones;  "but  won't  you  give  the  little 
one  a  kiss  as  a  token  you've  forgiven  me  }  " 

And  Portia  bent  her  head,  and  pressed  her  pure  lips 
against  the  velvety  surface  of  the  baby  cheek.  Then 
with  her  own  hands  she  adjusted  Mary's  thick  veil 
around  the  tear-stained  face,  and  after  writing  down 
her  address  and  promising  once  more  that  she  should 
have  redress,  she  preparetl  to  take  final  leave  of  her, 
At  the  door,  however,  slie  detained  her  an  instant 
while  she  said,  "One  thing  I  must  ask  you,  Mary — 
to  keep  what  has  passed  this  morning  a  secret  be- 
tween ourselves.  You  don't  tell  Mr.  Tolhurst  things, 
I  suppose .'' " 

"Mr.  Tolhurst!     Oh,  no,  miss.     He's  been  a  good 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  139 

frieiul  to  me — I'll  say  that  for  him  ;  but  he's  distant- 
like  in  his  manner." 

"Of  course,"  continued  Portia,  "I  have  no  right 
to  control  your  confidences.  Only  I  couldn't  bear 
that  7ny  name  should  be  mentioned  in  connection 
with  anything  that  has  happened  when  you  are  talk- 
ing to — to — outsiders,  you  understand  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  quite  understand,  miss — and  oh,  dear!  if 
I  thought  it  would  spoil  your  life,  I'd  undo  all  my 
morning's  work  this  minute,  and  thankfully  too.'' 

"It  hasn't  spoilt  my  life,  Mary,"  replied  Portia, 
gravely.  "  On  the  contrary.  And  now  good-bye — 
and  take  heart ;  things  may  still  come  right  in  the  end. " 

She  turned  back  into  the  room,  after  watching  her 
visitor  departed  down  the  long  corridor  that  led  to  a 
back  staircase,  whence  Mary  might  find  her  way  out 
of  the  house  through  the  kitchen  regions.  Whatever 
might  happen  in  the  future,  her  appearance  this  morn- 
ing had  had  at  least  the  effect  of  exorcising  the  ghost 
that  had  haunted  Portia's  imagination  so  long. 
Never  again  would  Harry's  Madonna  fix,  as  she  had 
been  wont  to  do  of  late,  her  mournful  and  enigmatic 
gaze  upon  her  whenever  Portia  was  alone  with  her 
thoughts.  Henceforth  her  mind  would  be  at  rest 
upon  that  point.  The  enigma  had  been  solved.  The 
ghost  was  laid.  "  But  I  should  have  heeded  the 
warning  while  there  was  tiine, "  she  reflected  sorrow- 
fully.    ' '  Who  knows  whether  my  new-born  antipathy 


I40  THE  PENANCE  OF  POKTIA  JAMES. 

to  John — that  1  don't  remember  feehng  in  Australia, 
or  how  could  I  have  promised  to  marry  him  ? — was 
not  dictated  by  a  kind  of  occult  inlluence,  exercising 
itself  through  the  painted  efhgy  of  the  woman  who 
stood,  and  who  still  stands,  between  us  ?  I  have  had 
an  instinctive  shrinking  from  him  lately  that  made 
me  see  all  his  actions  in  what  I  thought  must  be  a 
distorted  kind  of  light.  If  he  kissed  me  I  felt  it  was 
brutal  of  him.  And  how  truly  my  instincts  spoke, 
after  all !  " 

Portia  did  not,  however,  allow  her  reflections  to 
interfere  with  her  preparations  for  her  departure.  She 
had  always  had  a  tendency  to  dress  and  pack,  to  do 
most  things  indeed,  rouf-ronf  (as  the  Brussels  people 
call  doing  things  in  a  hurry),  and  the  habit  stood 
her  in  good  stead  now.  Not  six  minutes  after  Mary's 
departure,  she  was  standing  in  the  tailor-made  dress 
of  grey  tweed,  upon  her  head  a  felt  travelling  hat  and 
covered  by  a  gossamer  veil  as  bafQing  to  those  who 
would  have  penetrated  its  folds  from  the  outside,  as 
that  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  himself;  her  keys  and  her 
purse  in  an  accessible  pocket ;  her  wraps  and  her 
waterproof  made^nto  a  geometrical  bundle,  with  the 
aid  of  Wilmer's  Australian  saddle-bag,  that  had  some- 
how passed  into  her  possession  ;  her  demeanour  com- 
posed, her  mind  as  clear  as  though  she  had  been  bent 
upon  no  more  important  mission  than  that  of  taking 
the   dogs  for  a  walk.     When  all  her   arrangements 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMKS.  141 

were  completed,  s|ie  looked  at  herself  for  an  instant 
in  the  glass  before  tying-  on  her  veil.  Her  cheeks 
were  curiously  pale,  but  there  was  such  a  light  of 
fierce  excitement  in  her  eyes,  that  the  rusty  stains 
that  marked  their  yellow-brown  depths  seemed  to 
burn  and  glitter  as  though  they  were  reflecting  some 
inward  flame.  With  her  veil  tied  closely  over  her 
face,  Portia  satisfied  herself  that  she  was  hardly  to  be 
recognized.  But  the  outline,  what  painters  call  the 
arabesque  of  her  figure  might  yet  betray  her.  She 
reached  down  from  a  peg  a  long  dark  cloak,  the 
counterpart  of  the  one  that  a  certain  order  of  nursing- 
sisters  wear,  and  threw  it  over  her  shoulders.  Her 
final  step  was  to  take  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil, 
and  to  write,  with  a  firm  hand,  the  following  : 

"Dearest  Emma, — I  have  not  gone  mad,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  kill  myself;  but  I  should  do  one  or  the 
other,  perhaps  both,  if  I  were  obliged  to  live  with 
Mr.  Morrisson  now.  I  have  just  discovered  that  he 
has  a  wife  (or  a  mistress)  and  a  child — the  latter  not 
a  year  old.  If  I  were  to  stay  here  I  am  afraid  I 
should  be  forced  to  go  away  with  him  all  the  same  ; 
so,  to  avoid  a  painful  scene,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  leave  the  house  for  a  time,  and  to  hide 
somewhere  until  things  are  settled.  Don't  try  to 
have  me  followed  ;  it  would  be  of  no  use — and  don't 
be  uneasy  about  me.      I  am  of  age  now,  and  can  do 


142  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/A  /AMES, 

as  I  please,  and  you  know  that  I  am  well  able  to  take 
care  of  myself.  You  may  just  fancy  I  have  gone  to 
the  seaside  for  a  week,  if  you  like.  You  will  hear 
again  from  me  soon — and  meanwhile,  with  best  love 
to  Wilmcr  and  yourself,  au  revoir. 

' '  Portia.  " 

Within  this  missive  she  placed  a  sealed  envelope 
addressed  to  John  Morrisson,  Esq.,  inside  which  she 
had  written  in  pencil  :  "If  you  want  an  explanation 
of  my  letter  to  Emma,  call  at  No.  77  Silver  Street. — 
Portia  James." 

The  signature  was  written  with  defiant  clearness. 
Like  many  young  women  who  are  not  otherwise 
distinguished  as  scribes,  Portia  had  a  signature 
worthy  of  a  Minister  of  State.  She  re-read  hurriedly 
her  letter  to  her  sister.  Yes,  it  would  do.  There 
was  nothing  in  its  contents  to  warrant  violent  alarm 
on  the  part  of  her  belongings.  And  now  there 
remained  nothing  more  for  her  to  do  but  to  make  hei 
escape,  with  the  faithful  Eliza's  aid. 

But  this  part  of  her  project  turned  out,  as  the  event 
proved,  the  most  difficult  of  all  to  carry  into  effect, 
Upon  being  called  back  into  the  room,  after  her 
curiosity  had  been  roused  to  a  point  that  was  well- 
nigh  unbearable  by  the  distinct  sound  of  smothered 
sobs  proceeding  from  it,  nurse  Eliza's  face  wore  an 
air  of  justifiable  resentment.      Her  compressed  lips 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  143 

plainly  told  of  a  slight  offered,  not  only  to  her  dignity, 
but  to  her  most  intimate  feelings — her  most  tender 
susceptibilities.  Portia  saw  how  the  case  stood  in  a 
moment,  but  there  was  no  time  to  perform  the  neces- 
sary operation  of  smoothing  nurse  Eliza  down  before 
enlisting  her  services.  To  do  the  latter  justice,  when 
she  was  made  finally  aware  of  her  young  mistress's 
desperate  resolve,  and  the  cause  of  it,  her  own  private 
grievance  in  connection  with  the  matter  melted  away. 
The  magnitude  of  the  news  was  so  infinitely  beyond 
anything  she  could  have  suspected  or  dreamed  of  in 
her  wildest  moments,  that  it  seemed  to  swallow  up 
all  other  considerations.  Upon  one  point,  however, 
nurse  Eliza  was  obdurate.  If  her  young  lady  was 
bent  upon  going — why,  she  would  go  with  her.  Tn 
vain,  Portia  expended  herself  in  arguments  to  prove 
that  there  was  no  time  for  her  to  get  ready  in — that 
the  only  real  service  she  could  render  was  by 
remaining  behind  and  guarding  the  room  as  though 
its  occupant  were  still  there,  until  such  time  as  it 
should  be  incumbent  upon  her  to  betray  the  secret. 
The  woman  remained  inflexible,  until,  at  length,  in 
a  moment  of  desperation,  Portia  flew  to  the  win- 
dow. 

"I'll  jump  out  of  it,"  she  cried  vehemently  ;  "and 
it  will  be  you  who  have  killed  me.  I  won't  be 
hunted  like  an  animal." 

She   had   thrown  back  her  veil,  and  stood  like  a 


144  THE  PENA.VCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

tigress  at  bay ;  her  eyes  seemed  actually  to  throw 
out  sparks  of  fire. 

"Oh,  miss,"  sobbed  the  terrified  Eliza,  "what  are 
you  about?  Don't  you  know  if  you  was  to  jump  out 
I'd  be  after  you  before  you'd  get  to  the  bottom  ?  I'll 
do  what  you  want  ;  but  you'll  break  my  heart,  you 
cruel  girl,  that  you  will." 

"  They  all  seem  to  cry  but  me,"  said  Portia  to 
herself,  as  she  pulled  down  her  veil  again,  and  listened 
in  secret  triumph  to  the  hysteric  sniffs  of  distress 
whereby  Eliza  found  vent  for  her  feelings.  But 
aloud  she  cajoled  the  faithful  creature  with  honeyed 
words.  She  promised  that  Eliza  should  be  the 
first  to  hear  her  news.  "And  you  shall  come  and 
join  me,  dear,  I  am  going  to  friends.  My  letters 
will  be  addressed  to  you  always,  on  the  condition 
that  you  don't  betray  my  whereabouts.  I  only  don't 
tell  you  where  I  am  going,  in  order  that  you  may  not 
have  to  tell  a  lie — you  cumi  tell  lies,  you  know, 
Eliza  dear — when  they  ask  you  where  I  am.  And 
now  go  and  see  that  the  coast  is  clear ;  that  the  door 
of  the  smoking-room  is  shut ;  that  my  sister  is  having 
a  nap  ;  that  the  servants  are  out  of  the  way,  and  the 
back-door  in  the  garden  open.  Then  come  and  make 
a  sign  to  me  from  the  end  of  the  corridor.  I  will  come 
out  with  my  valise  and  the  saddle-bag,  and  in 
High  Street  I  shall   get  into   the   first  hansom  I  see." 

And  all  these  directions  Eliza,  in  fear  and  trembling, 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  145 

carried  out  an  pied  de  la  lettre.  She  cleared  the  path, 
as  one  who  assists  a  prisoner  to  escape  at  dead  of 
nig-ht  from  his  dungeon.  If  James  or  any  one  of  his 
silver-blue  tribe  had  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  nurse- 
uniform's  cloak  skurrying  down  the  garden-path — if 
the  groom  in  the  coachhouse,  hosing  the  wheels  of 
the  equipage  that  was  to  drive  the  newly-married  pair 
to  the  station,  and  pondering  upon  the  extent  of  the  tip 
he  would  most  probably  receive  from  the  bridegroom, 
caught  a  transient  view  of  a  figure  so  like  his  young 
mistress's  hurrying  up  the  mews,  that  he  paused  to 
say,  "  Well,  I'm  bio  wed  ;  "  there  was  nothing  in 
either  of  these  events  that  need  have  caused  the 
fugitive  alarm.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not  when 
Portia  had  scuttled  through  the  corridor  and  down 
the  backstairs,  not  when  she  had  left  the  yard,  the 
garden,  and  the  garden-door  behind  her,  not  even 
when  she  had  received  her  valise  at  Eliza's  hand  out- 
side, and  had  walked  undisturbed  into  High  Street 
— it  was  not,  indeed,  until  she  was  safely  ensconced 
in  a  swift-bowling  hansom,  to  the  driver  whereof  she 
hadgiven  the  order  "London  Bridge  Station,"  that  her 
breath  seemed  to  come  freely  once  more,  and  her 
heart  to  resume,  to  a  certain  extent,  its  normal 
functions.  She  had  accomplished  her  great  cotip. 
She  had  acted  upon  the  brave  motto  "to  dare  and 
to  do,"  and  she  had  succeeded.  A  curious  exhila- 
ration seemed  to  take  possession  of  her.     The  world 

10 


146  THE  PENANCE  OF  POKTTA  JAMES. 

was  before  her,  and  she  had  her  liberty.  She  might 
live  her  own  life  now,  as  Anna  had  put  it,  where 
and  how  she  pleased.  It  is  generally  supposed  that 
there  is  no  case  so  curious  or  exceptional  but  that  its 
counterpart  might  be  found  among  the  thousand 
and  one  curious  and  exceptional  cases  that  occur 
daily  in  London  without  anybody's  being  the  wiser 
for  them.  Yet  I  doubt  if,  in  any  other  quarter  of 
that  vast  conglomeration,  a  newly-married  bride, 
leaving  her  home  under  similar  conditions  to  those 
which  attended  our  heroine's  departure,  and  wearing 
a  similar  look  of  elation  in  her  tell-tale  eyes  concealed 
behind  her  gossamer  veil,  could  have  been  readily 
encountered.  And  what  was  our  heroine  thinking  of, 
as  the  cab  rolled  on  its  long,  smooth  course  into  the 
City.?  I  think,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  route 
she  intended  to  take  to  Paris  was  the  uppermost  con- 
sideration in  her  mind  during  the  first  few  moments  of 
her  flight.  "Newhaven  and  Dieppe,"  she  concluded 
triumphantly.  "  They  will  never  think  of  that ;  and 
I  shall  be  safe  in  hiding  at  Anna's  before  they  have 
had  time  to  make  up  their  minds  in  what  direction 
they  are  to  look  for  me." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Fortune,  or  perhaps  one  of  those  powers  that  John 
in  his  wild  jubilation  had  defied,  favored  Portia's 
flight.  Her  hansom  bowled  her  in  swift  safety  to 
the  London  Bridge  station,  where  it  deposited  her  an 
hour  before  the  departure  of  her  train — which  hour 
she  spent  waiting  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  ladies' 
waiting-room,  with  her  veil  down,  and  her  heart,  as 
the  saying  goes,  in  her  mouth.  She  dared  not  venture 
upon  the  platform  outside,  where  the  hurrying  crowd 
was  running  to  and  fro  like  ants  about  their  nests  ; 
she  could  not  even  command  the  resolution  to  make 
her  way  into  the  refreshment-room,  where,  despite 
her  agitation  of  mind,  she  would  have  been  glad  to 
provide  herself  with  one  of  the  fossil  Bath  buns  dis- 
played upon  the  counter  (for  violent  emotion  and  a 
long  hour's  drive  incline  to  emptiness).  It  was  in 
vain  she  told  herself  that  no  one  would  think  of  look- 
ing for  her  here,  and  that  in  so  far  as  her  chances  of 
being  recognised  went,  she  had  counteracted  them 
effectually  by  merging  her  identity  into  that  of  the 
class  of  average  young-lady  travellers,  who  flit  un- 


148  THE  PEA'AJVCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

perceived  about  the  world  with  "  Come  like  shadows, 
so  depart  "  for  their  apparent  rule  of  action.  Con- 
science, that  makes  cowards  of  us  all,  made  a  coward 
of  Portia.  It  seemed  to  her  that  everyone  who  looked 
in  her  direction  did  so  with  malice  prepense,  having 
detected  the  fact  that  she  was  running- away  from  her 
home.  Even  the  man  who  took  the  tickets  eyed 
her,  as  she  thought,  with  suspicion.  The  more 
effectually  to  screen  herself  from  observation  she  had 
taken  a  second-class  place,  and  now  mounted  heroi- 
cally into  a  second-class  carriage  of  the  order  known 
as  stufl^  and  dissimulated  herself  between  a  fat 
French  priest  and  a  little  girl  on  her  way  to  school 
in  France,  who  spent  her  time  in  alternate  fits  of 
weeping  and  sucking  oranges. 

The  night  was  a  divine  one.  Through  the  window 
of  the  compartment,  which  her  fellow-travellers  per- 
sisted in  keeping  closed,  Portia  could  see  the  summer 
landscape  fading  into  indistinctness  under  the  waning 
twilight.  By-and-by  a  red-gold  moon  swung  herself 
slowly  aloft  through  the  sky.  What  would  not  Portia 
have  given  to  be  able  to  stop  the  train  and  walk  about 
in  the  midst  of  that  enchanted  scene.?  It  seemed  so 
redolent  of  calm  and  repose,  to  breathe  such  "  bease," 
as  Emma  had  said  of  the  coppery  Claude — and 
"  bease  "  appeared  as  far  out  of  Portia's  reach  at  this 
instant  as  the  moonlit  landscape  itself.  A  thousand 
disquieting  thoughts  were  succeeding  each  other  in 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  149 

hor  brain.  A  woman  does  not  run  away  upon  her 
weddinij-day  with  just  the  kind  of  sensation  with 
which  she  might  start  upon  a  personally-conducted 
circular  tour,  paid  for  by  anticipation — and  this  was 
what  our  heroine  was  tliscovcrinj^  to  her  cost.  At 
one  moment  she  would  picture  the  scene  that  must 
ensue  when  the  fact  of  her  flight  was  discovered  : 
Emma's  guttural  ejaculations,  Wilmer's  nervous  man- 
ipulation of  his  monocle,  John's  baffled  rage — she 
could  imagine  it  all  so  vividly.  At  another  she 
would  ponder  upon  the  possible  consequences  of  her 
action.  She  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she  *had  not 
placed  herself  under  the  ban  of  the  "law  of  the  land" 
— a  mysterious  and  vaguely-understood  power — nor 
that  the  emissary  who  would  finally  capture  her 
might  not  turn  out  to  be  a  policeman.  Then,  what 
would  Anna  say  .'  And  how  long  would  it  be  before 
her  hiding-place  in  Paris  could  be  discovered  }  This 
last  reflection  diverted  her  mind  from  dwelling  upon 
the  consternation  her  flight  would  necessarily  arouse 
in  the  home-circle.  It  is  well  known  that  in  cases  of 
family  separation  the  person  who  goes  among  fresh 
surroundings  has  less  time  and  less  opportunity  for 
fretting  than  the  friends  who  are  left  behind.  Such 
importance,  indeed,  do  we  attach  to  the  considering 
and  sustaining  (to  say  nothing  of  the  detaching  in- 
fluence) of  new  surroundings,  that  even  when  the 
destination   of  the  voyager  is  that  unknown  country 


150  '        THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

from  whose  bourne  no  traveller  returns,  we  think  our- 
selves warranted  in  saying,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  : 
"  Ah  !  it  is  not  he  who  is  to  be  pitied,  poor  fellow  ! 
It  is  those  he  is  leaving  behind." 

Portia  thought  of  this  fact  in  connection  with  her 
own  experience.  The  excitement  of  the  journey,  the 
having  a  definite  object  in  view,  a  place  where  she 
might  be  sure  of  a  welcome  awaiting  her,  made  her 
position  a  very  different  one  from  that  of  the  friends 
she  was  leaving  in  ignorance  of  her  fate,  from  wliose 
horizon  she  was  vanishing  without  leaving  a  trace 
of  her  passage  or  a  clue  to  her  possible  whereabouts. 
She  promised  herself  that  she  would  let  them  have 
news  through  Eliza  as  soon  as  she  could  do  so  with 
safety.  Mary  and  her  baby  were  also  much  in  her 
thoughts.  The  mystery  of  the  coincidence  that  had 
inspired  her  with  her  first  presentiment  in  connection 
with  them,  through  Harry  Tolhurst's  agency,  recurred 
to  her  mind.  The  Madonna  picture  had  faded  away, 
but  the  vision  of  the  prototype  of  that  Madonna,  weep- 
ing over  her  shattered  life,  with  her  baby  at  her  breast, 
had  taken  its  place.  A  horror  of  the  man  she  called 
her  husband  was  Portia's  next  feeling.  "I  am  glad 
I  left  the  opal  ring  he  gave  me  where  Emma  will  see 
it  and  take  it  to  him,"  she  thought;  "  that  and  the 
wedding-ring  will  speak  more  plainly  than  any 
reproaches  I  could  have  made  him." 

What  John    would  do    waS,  however,  beyond  her 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  151 

power  to  divine.  She  pondered  so  much  upon  this 
question,  and  so  many  complicated  problems  seemed 
to  spring  out  of  it  as  regarded  the  claim  Mary  had 
upon  his  affection,  and  the  extent  to  which  it  would 
be  justifiable  to  force  him  to  marry  her  (if  such  a  thing 
were  possible)  after  his  own  inclination  towards  her 
had  died  out,  that  she  lost  herself  in  the  labyrinth. 
If,  as  physiologists  tell  us,  the  amount  of  thinking 
we  go  through  increases  the  convolutions  of  our 
brains,  and  removes  us  still  further  in  the  scale  from 
our  cousins  the  chimpanzees,  Portia's  brain  must 
have  acquired  many  an  added  twist  during  her  journey 
from  Newhaven  over  the  sea.  Of  trouble  in  getting 
across  she  had  none.  If  railway  companies  and 
steamer  agencies  set  out  with  the  express  purpose  of 
facilitating  flights  and  elopements,  they  could  not 
render  the  means  of  accomplishing  them  more  easy. 
The  theory  of  swimming,  or  writing,  or  of  doing  any- 
thing else  whatsoever  "  made  easy,"  is  nothing  to 
the  theory  of  travelling  made  easy  as  it  has  been 
actually  carried  into  effect  by  companies  ;  and  ex- 
cept for  the  fact  that  a  traveller  is  occasionally 
launched  into  eternity,  without  so  much  as  a  "  by 
your  leave,"  through  their  operations,  the  arrange- 
ments by  which  they  whisk  us  about  the  world,  from 
London  to  Timbuctoo,  are  all,  so  to  speak,  plain 
sailing.  "  They  must  think  the  passengers  are  blind 
or  deaf,"  thought  Portia,  "  to  make  it  necessary  for 


152  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

a  man  to  go  on  shouting,  '  This  way  for  the  boat !  ' 
all  the  time — as  if  there  were  anywhere  else  to  go  to, 
if  one  wanted."  Arrived  on  board,  she  had  the  cour- 
age to  descend  to  the  second-cass  ladies'  cabin,  but 
not  the  courage  to  remain  there.      The  elaborate  pre- 

piirations  that  the  majority  of  the  inmates  were  mak- 
ing for  the  worst,  together  with  the  ostentatious  dis- 
play of  unbreakable  basins  on  the  berths,  was  a 
spectacle  before  which  she  shuddered  and  fled, 
In  return  for  a  handsome /o/^rio/re,  a  French  steward 
placed  a  mattress  and  a  pillow  for  her  on  the  deck, 
and  there,  with  the  moon's  rays  casting  their  silvery 
radiance  over  her,  this  bride  of  a  day  laid  herself 
down  to  sleep.  It  was  by  no  means  the  first  time 
she  had  slept  thus,  under  the  stars.  She  had  known 
in  olden  times  the  joys  of  camping-out  in  the  Austra- 
lian bush,  when  Wilmer  had  allowed  her  to  accom- 
pany him  upon  a  mustering  expedition  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  run.  She  knew  the  exhilaration  of  waking 
in  the  cool  morning,  with  the  vast  blue  dome  of  the 
far-reaching  Australian  sky  for  her  only  canopy,  and 
the  wondrous  chant  of  the  native  magpie,  wild  and 
sweet  as  the  bush  itself,  to  usher  in  her  morning 
vision.s.  She  had  built  many  an  innocent  castle-in- 
the-air  in  those  far-away  childish  days.  But  in  none 
of  them  had  she  seen  herself  lying  solitary  under 
the  starlit  sky  on  her  wedding-night.  Now  she  had 
no  longer  anything  to  fear,  she    lifted  her   veil,  and 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  153 

allowed  the  cool  moist  air — "  charge  de  sels  et 
d'aromes, "  as  the  enigmatic  Vcrlaine  hiis  it — to 
wander  over  her  face.  When  a  travelhng  'Arry  ap- 
proached too  near,  with  inquisitive  ghmces  that 
spoke  of  "  making  up  to  her,"  she  let  it  fall  tigain. 
But  she  was  not  the  only  lady  on  the  deck.  A  pal- 
pable bride,  with  her  head  on  her  lord's  shoulder, 
sate  in  an  obscurer  patch  at  some  little  distance  from 
her.  Portia  felt  a  strange  pang  as  she  looked  in  the 
direction  of  the  newly-wedded  pair.  The  silhouette 
of  the  bride  was  vague  and  indefinite,  yet  it  bore  the 
stamp  of  a  serenity  blissful  beyond  expression. 

Our  heroine,  I  may  remark  par  parenlhese,  was 
blessed  with  the  possession  that  comes  first  in  the 
triad  of  good  things  popularly  supposed  to  ensure  our 
earthly  happiness.  She  enjoyed  (and  if  ever  the  word 
"  enjoyed  "  were  well  applied  it  is  in  this  connection) 
— she  enjoyed  good  health.  Not  all  the  thinking  she 
had  done  during  her  journey  in  the  train  could  render 
her  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  she  had  had  no  bun 
after  all,  stale  or  otherwise,  at  London  Bridge  station, 
and  that  it  was  a  very  long  time  since  she  had  assisted 
at  Emma's  breakfast-lunch — supposed  to  be  a  bridal 
breakfast,  too,  but  more  suggestive  of  a  funeral  feast 
of  baked  meats,  as  far  as  her  own  feelings  in  partak- 
ing of  it  were  concerned.  And  not  all  her  agitation 
on  the  score  of  her  "escapade"  could  prevent  her 
from  thinking  the  fresh  ham  sandwiches  and  sweet 


i 


154  THE  rE NANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES. 

lemonade  wherewith  she  supped  on  deck  very  nice 
indeed.  She  lay  awake  notwithstanding,  listening 
to  the  swish  swish  and  thump  thump  of  screw  and 
engine,  until  the  moon  was  but  a  pale  reflection  of  the 
golden  globe  that  had  climbed  so  majestically  up  the 
heavens  a  few  hours  ago.  The  pale  dawn  was  creep- 
ing up  from  behind  the  rim  of  the  quiet  ocean.  Then 
Portia  fell  asleep,  and  in  her  sleep  sh(^fancied  she 
was  walking  in  front  of  the  lions'  cage  at  the  Zoo.  It 
was  the  hour  at  which  the  beasts  were  to  be  fed,  and 
the  particular  lion  she  was  looking  at  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  wild  agitation,  with  his  eyes  flaming, 
his  tail  curling,  and  his  mouth  gaping,  uttering 
hoarse  and  hungry  howls  ;  she  saw  the  food,  a  mass 
of  raw  and  bleeding  flesh,  brought  close  to  his  cage, 
and,  just  as  he  was  springing  upon  it  wildly,  she 
saw  that  it  was  withdrawn  by  the  keeper.  The  rage 
of  the  lion  thereupon  was  terrific  to  behold,  and  it 
seemed  to  Portia  in  her  dream  that  it  was  against  her- 
self that  he  was  raging.  Under  the  influence  of  the 
horrible  fascination  exercised  upon  her  in  her  night- 
mare she  was  constrained  to  approach  the  cage, 
with  the  full  certainty  of  being  eaten  in  her  turn  ;  but 
her  terror  was  so  great  when  she  discovered  that  the 
lion  was  turning  into  John  that  she  awoke.  The 
boiler  was  letting  off  steam,  and  the  lion's  howls  she 
had  heard  in  her  dream  had  been  suggested  by  its 
hoarse    roar.     Her   cheeks    felt    cold  and    clammy. 


THE  PENANCE  OF  POKT/A  JAMES.  155 

The  harbour  of  Dieppe,  with  the  masts  of  the  ships 
at  anchor,  and  the  towers  of  the  grey  cathedral 
swimming  in  the  amber  morning  light,  were  before 
her.  Another  six  hours,  and  she  would  be  in  Paris 
with  Anna. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  day-journey  from  Dieppe  to  Paris,  though 
infinitely  more  fatiguing,  was  not,  in  one  sense,  as 
trying  to  our  heroine  as  her  flight  of  the  previous 
night.  For  one  thing,  she  had  had  the  time  to  review 
her  position  calmly  ;  and  even  after  sleeping  over  it 
— a  process  which  is  supposed  to  be  most  efficacious 
in  readjusting  our  mental  focus — she  felt  that  if  the 
thing  were  to  do  over  again,  she  would  act  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  way  ;  now  as  the  lives  of  most  of  us 
are  made  up  of  regrets  that  we  could  not  have  acted 
differently,  this  was  a  conclusion  that  could  not  fail 
to  have  a  tranquillising  effect.  Moreover,  as  re- 
garded the  fact  of  running  away,  the  contempt  that 
is  born  of  familiarity  was  beginning  to  assert  its 
reassuring  influence  upon  her  mind.  She  no  longer 
imagined  that  when  any  of  her  fellow-travellers 
looked  her  way  it  must  necessarily  be  with  the  set 
purpose  of  denouncing  her  to  her  relations,  and  was 
even  composed  enough  after  j\  while  to  look  through 
the  window  of  the  high  and  jolting  second-class 
carriage  into  which  she  had  climbed,  and  to  admire 

'56 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  157 

the  landscape,  after  an  abstracted  and  desultory 
fashion,  in  the  calm,  clear  sunshine  of  a  July  day. 
The  woods  and  ticlds,  twinkling  with  light,  reminded 
her  of  a  newly-varnished  picture.  The  words  in 
which  Mark  Twain,  in  the  Innocents  Abroad,  em- 
phasises the  refrain,  "Oh,  pleasant  land  of  France," 
by  adding  "and  it  is  a  pleasant  land,"  recurred  to 
her  memory,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  fully  indorse 
them.  The  crops  were  a  particular  source  of  wonder 
and  delight.  The  sloping  fields  of  wheat,  a  rippling 
expanse  of  pale  gold  set  round  with  a  garland  of 
fiery  poppies  and  sky-blue  cornflowers,  excited  her 
admiration,  I  fear,  even  more  than  the  grey  towers 
of  Rouen  Cathedral,  which  also  claimed  her  passing 
notice.  But  Portia  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  Bush- 
bred  maiden,  and  she  had  not  grown  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  farming  operations  carried  on  at  Yarraman 
Station  upon  the  virgin  soil  of  Australia — so  jDarched 
and  dried  up  for  the  most  part  of  the  year,  that  "  elder- 
ly spinster  soil  "  would  have  been  a  more  applicable 
designation  for  it — to  be  oblivious,  when  she  beheld 
them,  of  the  marvels  of  an  unbroken  succession  of 
fields  of  waving  corn  waiting  in  all  their  ripened  glory 
for  harvesting.  Then  there  were  the  trees — the  won- 
derful European  trees — with  their  rich  and  varying 
liveries  of  heavy  summer  green,  to  be  contrasted  with 
her  recollection  of  the  gaunt  Australian  gums  and  the 
black  and  scraggy  she-oaks  she  remembered.       Her 


158  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTtA  JAMES. 

reflections  upon  these  topics  were,  however,  more  of 
the  nature  of  passing  impressions  than  an  actual 
exercise  of  lier  cogitative  faculties,  for  Jie  part  that  she 
herself  was  to  play  in  her  new  surroundings  was  the 
consideration  that  was  really  uppermost  in  her  mind 
most  of  the  time.  She  had  wisely,  but  not  too  well,  as 
regarded  her  own  comfort,  taken  refuge  in  the  ladies' 
carriage,  where  for  all  society  she  found  only  two 
religieuses  and  an  exclusive  lady's-maid,  with  whom 
she  hardly  exchanged  a  word  all  the  way.  Arrived 
at  the  Gare  St.  Lazare,  she  had  a  momentary  quailing 
in  presence  of  the  unfamiliar  and  somewhat  formi- 
dable crowd  that  thronged  in  its  vicinity.  In  the 
Bush,  she  was  fully  able,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the 
phrase,  to  find  her  way  about  ;  but  to  accomplish  a 
similar  feat,  in  the  slang  acceptation  of  the  words, 
and  in  a  city  like  Paris,  of  all  others,  seemed  quite 
another  matter.  There  were  women  here,  too,  with 
that  in  their  faces  that  dismayed  her — she  could  not 
tell  why — and  the  hot  colour  mounted  to  her  cheeks 
upon  more  than  one  occasion  as  her  eyes  encount- 
ered behind  her  veil  those  of  some  Frenchman  who 
was  trying  to  devisager  her  (the  fact  that  we  have  no 
equivalent  for  the  word  in  English  is  a  proof  that  the 
habit  is  more  of  a  Continental  than  an  insular  one). 
It  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  she  deposited  her- 
self at  last,  with  rugs  and  valise,  in  the  pelile  voiture 
that  was  to  drive  her  to  the   Rue  Vaue:irard.     Was  it 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  155 

fancy,  or  had  the  cocker  in  the  polished  white  bell- 
topper,  to  whom  she  had  just  confided  herself,  really- 
intended  to  leer  at  her  with  insolent  meaning  as  she 
gave  him  the  address?  The  idea  was  such  a  dis- 
quieting one  that  she  stopped  him  before  they  had 
rolled  many  yards  to  inquire  of  him,  in  timid  Aus- 
tralian-French, whether  he  had  understood  where  he 
was  to  take  her.  The  cocker  replied,  "  Parfaite- 
ment,"  with  a  shrug  and  in  a  testy  tone  of  voice,  as 
though  he  had  been  annoyed  by  her  asking;  but 
this  was  so  much  more  reassuring  than  his  previous 
way  of  conducting  himself,  that  Portia  began  to 
think  she  must  have  misjudged  him  after  all,  and 
that  her  first  impression  was  the  result  of  pure 
nervousness. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  our  heroine  had  been 
in  Paris.  She  had  been  brought  thither,  as  we  have 
seen,  only  a  fortnight  ago,  for  the  solemn  purpose  of 
making  choice  of  her  going-away  bonnet.  The 
difference  between  that  mission  and  her  actual  one 
was  not  less  great  than  the  difference  between  the 
Paris  she  had  known  then  and  the  Paris  she  was  to 
come  into  contact  with  now.  During  her  former 
visit  she  had  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Continental,  and 
had  seen  from  her  windows  the  same  trim  and 
beautiful  portion  of  the  Tuileries  gardens  opposite, 
as  the  deposed  Queen  Zara,  in  Daudet's  Rois  en  Exil, 
saw  the  morning  after  her  hasty  arrival.      The  Paris 


i6o  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  J  AMES. \ 

she  had  known  then  had  been  that  glittering  surface 
of  the  great  city  which  draws  to  itself  the  rich,  the 
young,  the  gay,  and  the  pleasure-loving  of  all  the 
nations  upon  earth.  It  was  the  Paris  of  the  grands 
boulevards,  the  Theatre  Frangais,  the  Opera,  Brebants, 
and  the  Palais  Royal.  From  her  short  experience 
of  it,  Portia  had  gathered  the  impression  that  exist- 
ence here  meant  being  steeped  to  the  neck  in  every 
kind  of  agreeable  and  delightful  sensation.  She  had 
a  clear  remembrance  of  sitting  under  the  awning  of 
a  well-know  cafe  on  the  Boulevard  Poissoniere  with 
Wilmer  and  John,  eating  sorbets,  and  of  looking 
across  the  intensely  interesting  crowd  of  carriages 
and  pedestrians  that  streamed  past  her,  to  the  houses 
on  the  opposite  side.  How  grandly  high  they  rose 
above  the  topmost  boughs  of  the  beautiful  limes  and 
chestnuts  and  sycamores  standing  in  front  of  them, 
and  what  a  gay  surface  of  golden  letters  picked  out 
on  a  soft  grey  background  they  presented  to  her 
gaze.  Many  different  families,  people  of  all  ranks 
and  callings,  she  had  been  told,  dwelt  in  layers  in 
these  marvellous  habitations,  sinking  in  the  social 
scale  as  they  rose  in  the  architectural  one  ;  but  she 
could  hardly  realise  this  fact.  Like  the  hero  in 
Thackeray's  sketch  in  the  little  dinner  at  Timmins's, 
w^ho  imagined  that  the  pastry-cooks'  young  ladies  at 
whose  shrine,  or,  rather,  at  whose  counter,  he  wor- 
shipped, must  be  nurtured  upon  the  most  delicate  of 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  i6i 

intangible  dainties,  upon  vvhilfs  and  emanations  of 
creams  and  jellies,  she  could  not  help  connecting- 
the  mingled  perfumes  she  was  conscious  of — those 
of  the  hyacinth-laden  flower-cart  that  passed  along 
in  front  other,  of  the  patchouli-scented  coco/Ze  (whom 
she  took  for  a  charming  lady)  seated  next  to  her,  of 
the  sauce  piqtiaiiic  that  was  being  fabricated  in  the 
kitchen  of  a  celebrated  restaurant  at  hand — with  the 
lives  of  the  dwellers  in  these  enchanted  regions. 
The  atmosphere  they  lived  in  harmonised  with  the 
brilliancy  of  their  surroundings.  For  Portia  they 
were  all  part  of  a  brilliant  show.  The  whole  of 
Paris,  indeed,  presented  itself  to  her  mind,  so  far,  in 
the  guise  of  a  grand  theatrical  display,  and  the 
thought  of  living  in  it  as  Anna's  guest  took  no  more 
definite  shape  than  that  of  helping  to  swell  the 
pageant  as  she  had  done  before,  by  driving  to  the 
Bois,  along  the  Champs  Elysees,  or  sitting  in  front  of 
the  Cafe  Riche  or  the  Maison  Dore,  or  making  pur- 
chases in  one  of  those  wonderful  shops  with  the 
delicately-painted  ceilings,  where  the  dame  or 
demoiselle  de  ynagasin  would  serve  her  with  the  most 
exquisite  urbanity,  and  show  her  the  loveliest 
dernieres  creations,  maintaining  at  the  same  time  her 
own  right  of  pronouncing  the  final  verdict — "Voila 
ce  qu'il  faut  pour  Mademoiselle  " — with  an  inflexible 
calmness  of  conviction  against  which  it  would  have 

been  futile  to  protest. 

II 


1 62  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

This  Paris  of  Portia's  recollection  was  but  a  limited 
Paris,  after  all.  Nevertheless,  it  is  the  only  one  of 
which  the  majority  of  her  sex  placed  under  similar 
circumstances  have  much  knowledge.  For  the  first 
part  of  her  drive  there  was  nothing  to  dispel  her 
illusions.  The  cab  drove  down  the  asphalted  Rue  de 
Richelieu,  and  across  the  narrow  and  crowded  Rue 
St.  Honore,  coming,  however,  to  a  standstill  in  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli,  where  the  driver  sacred  at  having  to 
back  before  a  tremendous  Crichy-Odeon  omnibus, 
with  its  three  white  classic  steeds,  worthy  of  figuring 
upon  a  Pompeian  frieze,  harnessed  abreast.  When 
the  omnibus  had  gone  on  its  way  she  found  herself 
rattled,  with  much  clatter,  across  the  stony  Place  de 
Carrousel,  whence  she  could  discern  ahead  of  her, 
to  the  right,  the  lower  portion  of  the  skeleton  frame- 
work of  the  mighty  Eiffel  Tower,  then  in  process  of 
construction.  The  thick  mass  of  foliage  in  the 
Tuileries  Gardens,  and  the  ascending  perspective  of 
the  Champs  Elysees,  with  its  double  rows  of  trees 
and  its  moving  mass  of  carriages,  evoked  familiar 
memories.  It  was  not  until  the  cocker  had  driven 
her  across  the  Pont  des  Arts,  and  was  whipping  his 
horse  up  the  Rue  de  Seine  in  a  fashion  which  led  her 
to  remonstrate  with  him  in  reckless  French,  that  her 
surroundings  began  to  wear  an  unfamiliar  aspect. 
Once,  and  only  once,  had  Portia  crossed  the  river 
before — upon   the   occasion   of    her    accompanying 


THE  rEiVANCF.   OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  163 

Emma  upon  a  shopping  expedition  to  the  Bon 
Marche.  The  old  part  of  Paris,  that  no  Cook's  tourist 
would  be  allowed  to  netjlect — Notre-Dame,  the  Tour 
St.-Jacques,  the  Pantheon,  the  Luxembourg- — were  all 
unknown  to  her.  The  Quartier  Latin  was  terra 
incognita.  The  appearance  of  the  Boulevard  St.- 
Germain  raised  the  temporary  hope  that  here, 
perhaps,  the  enchanted  region  would  begin  to 
unfold  itself  once  more  ;  but,  as  the  cab  continued  its 
jolting  away  up  the  stony  Rue  de  Rennes,  the  hope  died 
gradually  away.  If  she  had  an  objection  to  formulate 
to  this  part  of  Paris  it  was  on  the  score  of  its  being 
so  noisy.  Omnibuses  came  thundering  along  with 
a  rackety  sound  that  seemed  to  go  through  her  head. 
Carts  and  carriages  rattled  over  the  stones  with  an 
aggressive  and  deafening  clatter.  How  people 
carried  on  the  business  of  life — above  all,  how  they 
carried  on  any  kind  of  connected  conversation  in  the 
midst  of  such  a  din,  was  a  mystery.  No  wonder 
they  bawled  and  squalled  when  they  spoke  to  each 
other.  And  as  though  they  did  not  get  share  enough 
of  the  noise  indoors,  they  seemed  to  carry  on  the 
greater  part  of  their  business  outside.  How  different 
were  the  magasins  from  those  she  remembered  on 
the  graiids  boulevards.  Their  contents  seemed  to 
sprawl  not  only  "all  over  the  shop,"  but  all  over  the 
pavement  as  well.  Even  the  mantles  and  costumes 
were  displayed  upon  portly  wicker  presentments  of 


1 64  THE  PENANCE  OF  rOKTIA  JAMES. 

the  feminine  form  ranged  in  the  street  outside,  and 
groceries,  crockery-ware,  and  market  produce  of  all 
kinds  overflowed  upon  the  trotioir. 

Portia  was  a  little  tired.  The  reaction  following 
upon  her  exciting  experiences  of  the  last  four-and- 
twenty  hours  was  exerting  its  depressing  influence. 
The  noise,  the  heat,  the  dust,  and  the  glare  oppressed 
her,  and  though  she  had  remained  dry-eyed  as  a 
Medusa  under  all  the  emotions  consequent  upon  her 
marriage  and  her  subsequent  flight  from  her  home,  I 
will  not  answer  for  it  that  as  the  cab  drew  up  in  front 
of  a  shabby  wooden  door,  opening  upon  a  paved 
courtyard,  wherein  a  fat,  hard-eyed  woman,  white- 
jacketed  and  blue-aproned,  sat  shelling  peas,  she  did 
not  feel  a  kind  of  unreasoning  inclination  to  shed  a 
desolate  tear  or  two. 

"Mademoiselle  Ross.?"  she  inquired  timidly,  as 
she  entered  the  yard  with  her  valise  and  her  rugs, 
after  she  had  submissively  handed  to  the  cocher  the 
five  francs  he  claimed  from  her — the  last  that  re- 
mained out  of  the  pound  she  had  changed  at  Dieppe. 
She  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  man  had  cheated 
her;  but  how  was  she  to  defend  herself  against  extor- 
tionate charges  in  an  unfamiliar  tongue.-* 

"  Mademoiselle  Ross  est  sortie,"  said  the  woman, 
shortly.  And  now  there  could  be  no  longer  any  con- 
cealment of  the  humiliating  fact.  It  was  an  actual 
tear — ^just  such  a  one  as  she  had  shed  the  first  night 


Tllk  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  165 

it  had  happened  to  her  to  sleep  away  from  home  as 
a  Httle  girl — that  was  trembling  on  her  lashes  and 
forcing  its  way  down  her  cheek.  The  house  in  which 
Anna  lived  was  a  so-called  niaison  de  derriere,  and  to 
Portia's  unaccustomed  eyes  it  looked  sadly  shabby. 
It  was  very  tall — at  least  five  or  six  storeys  high,  she 
thought — and  the  windows  upon  each  storey  were 
as  large  as  those  at  a  photographer's.  In  the  centre 
of  the  yard,  in  front,  was  a  small  railed-round  garden, 
poor  as  regarded  its  blooms,  but  rich  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  drooping  mountain  ash,  with  berry-hung 
branches  that  swept  the  ground.  This  tree  gave  the 
only  reheving  touch,  in  Portia's  eyes,  to  the  dismal- 
ness  of  the  scene.  She  remembered  that  Anna  had 
promised  to  give  her  the  liberty  of  her  rooms  should 
she  appear  unexpectedly  upon  the  scene,  and  that  it 
was  an  understood  thing  that  the  key  should  be  left 
for  her  with  the  concierge.  But  the  woman  eyed  her 
with  such  sharp  curiosity,  and  there  was  so  little  sym- 
pathy expressed  in  her  hard  face,  that  our  heroine 
lost  countenance.  It  was  only  the  desperation  of  her 
case  that  emboldened  her  to  ask  as  best  she  could  at 
what  time  Mademoiselle  Ross  might  be  expected  to 
return. 

"Ne  m'a  pas    dit,"  muttered  the  woman,    indif- 
ferently. 

Then  Portia  bethought  herself  of  taking  a  visiting- 
card  from  her  pocket  and  showing  it,  after  reading 


l66  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

which  the  concierge,  holding  up  her  peas  in  her 
apron,  went  grudgingly  into  the  lower  room  of  a 
building  near  the  entrance,  and  returned  with  the  key. 
This  room,  from  the  cursory  glance  that  Portia  be- 
stowed upon  it,  appeared  to  serve  in  the  threefold 
capacity  of  kitchen,  bedroom,  and  dwelling-room, 
and  to  be  equally  trim  and  tidy  in  all  three.  In  hand- 
ing her  the  key,  the  woman  informed  her  briefly, 
.  "Au  quatrieme  premiere  porte  en  face — et  tournez 
deux  foislaclef,"  nodding  meanwhile  in  thedirection 
of  the  tall,  prison-like  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
court.  "Au  quatrieme"  and  "premiere  porte  en 
face  !  " — the  words  meant  nothing  to  the  person  to 
whom  they  were  addressed.  Yet  rather  than  run  the 
risk  of  again  exciting  the  displeasure  of  the  concierge, 
who  she  felt  for  some  reason  or  other  manifestly  dis- 
liked and  distrusted  her,  Portia  made  her  way  unaided 
towards  the  door  that^Jiad  been  pointed  out  to  her, 
and,  finding  herself  afr  me  foot  of  a  carpetlcss,  sombre, 
not  over-clean,  and  son'iewhat  steep  winding  stair- 
case, began  to  climb  the  same,  valiantly  dragging  as 
best  she  could,  her  valise  and  her  rugs  up  with  her. 
Arrived  at  the  second  landing  she  was  fain  to  sit  down 
to  rest.  The  whole  experience  seemed  like  a  hideous 
dream.  Where,  upon  this  gloomy,  prison-like  flight 
of  stairs,  could  be  the  door  that  opened  into  her  friend's 
abode  }  Sitting  wearily  on  a  step  upon  the  landing, 
and  reflecting  that  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  re- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT  11  JAMES.  167 

trace  her  tired  steps  again  (only,  could  she  dare  to 
leave  her  portmanteau  and  her  rugs  unprotected  on 
the  staircase  ?),  Portia  was  just  about  to  descend  once 
more,  when  a  door  behind  her  was  opened,  and  a 
young  man,  wearing  corduroy  trousers  and  a  plum- 
coloured,  close  fitting  jersey  that  sat  easily  upon  his 
well-knit  figure,  emerged  from  it.  A  glance  was  suf- 
ficient to  prove  to  Portia  that  she  was  in  the  presence 
of  a  gentleman.  The  intruder  would  have  bowed 
and  gone  past  her,  but  something  helpless  and  plead- 
ing in  her  manner  of  returning  the  salutation  made 
him  pause. 

"Are  you  going  higher .?  "  he  asked  her  in  English. 
"  Pray  let  me  help  you  up  with  your  things." 

"I  am  looking  for  Miss  Ross,"  said  Portia.  She 
had  accepted  his  help  as  naturally  as  he  had  offered 
it.  "I  don't  know  where  to  find  her  rooms.  She 
left  the  key  for  me  with  her  concierge  " — producing  it 
as  she  spoke.      "I  am  her  friend,  you  know." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  some  explanation  was  due 
for  thus  descending  (or  rather,  ascending)  upon  an- 
other person's  abode  in  her  absence  ;  but  her  new 
acquaintance  seemed  to  regard  the  proceeding  as 
perfectly  en  regie. 

"That  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "She  is  two  etages 
higher."  And  he  began  to  precede  her  up  the  stair- 
case, carrying  her  valise  and  the  bundle. 


1 68  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"Oh,  I  can't  think  of  letting  you  take  so  much 
trouble,"  protested  Portia,  toiling  after  him. 

"No  trouble  at  all,"  he  laughed  ;  "I  am  only  sorry 
I  didn't  meet  you  at  the  bottom." 

He  was  a  young  man,  and  he  had  a  pleasant  face  : 
such  a  face  as  may  be  seen  among  the  crew  of  a 
University  eight,  or  the  members  of  a  cricket  team  at 
Lord's,  with  the  refined  jaw  and  well-trained  muscles 
— facial  as  well  as  bodily — that  speak  of  much  men- 
tal and  physical  training.  He  apologised  for  going 
in  front,  on  the  ground  of  having  to  show  his  com- 
panion the  way,  and  it  was  he  who  placed  the  key, 
after  what  seemed  to  Portia  an  interminable  climb, 
in  the  door  for  her,  when  they  arrived  eventually  in 
front  of  Anna's  room,  and  who  gave  her  a  practical 
illustration  of  what  the  "  deux  fois  tourner  "  signified. 
He  even  carried  her  things  unasked  inside,  and,  see- 
ing a  huge  tin  water-jug  standing  empty  at  the  en- 
trance, took  it  up  with  the  remark,  "  They  have  for- 
gotten to  leave  you  any  water,  I  see,"  and  was  off 
and  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  sight  before  Portia, 
in  her  bewilderment,  had  found  any  words  in  which 
to  remonstrate  with  him.  While  he  was  away  she 
took  a  hasty  glance  round  the  apartment.  The  first 
rapid  impression  it  conveyed  was  one  of  new  per- 
plexity, and  there  had  been  so  much  to  perplex  her 
already.  It  was  large.  Portia,  in  common  with  her 
sex,  was  no  appraiser  of  proportions,  but  it  was  what 


THE  PF.NAATE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  169 

she  would  have  called  a  fairly  big  room,  and  it  was 
high— higher  than  any  of  the  rooms,  not  excepting 
the  picture-gallery  itself,  in  the  Kensington  mansion. 
There  was  a  faded  blue  curtain  slung  across  one  end, 
behind  an  opening  in  which  she  could  discern  a 
camp  bedstead,  a  washing-stand,  and  a  wardrobe. 
The  other  part  of  the  room  seemed  to  serve  as  a  sit- 
ting-room and  studio  combined— to  say  nothing  of 
eating  and  cooking-room  as  well.  There  was,  never- 
theless, something  attractive  in  its  general  aspect.  The 
floor  was  of  stained  wood,  with  Turkey  carpets  and 
rugs  scattered  about  it.  There  was  a  piano  on  one 
side  and  book-shelves  on  the  other.  Upon  a  low 
table,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  large  easel  stood  a 
Benares  vase  filled  with  peonies  in  full  bloom,  with 
petals  that  looked  like  frayed  rose-colored  silk.  There 
were  some  royal  stuffs — Portia  did  not  know  of  what 
description — thrown  across  a  low  canopy.  In  one 
corner  was  a  red  crock,  out  of  which  the  end  of  a 
loaf  as  long  as  an  umbrella  was  protruding.  Against 
the  walls  were  pinned  or  nailed  all  manner  of  paint- 
ings, drawings,  and  sketches.  Some  of  these  were 
charcoal  studies  from  the  nude,  and  to  Portia,  who 
did  not  as  yet  know  the  meaning  of  "Academies," 
they  conveyed  a  startling  and  almost  terrifying  im- 
pression. She  was  still  standing  with  the  uneasy 
air  of  one  who  does  not  know  what  to  make  of  her 


lyo  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

surroundings,   when    her  gentleman-help   returned, 
with  the  jug  filled  to  the  brim. 

"They  pretend  it's  eau  sur  tons  les  etages,"  he  re- 
marked parenthetically  as  he  set  it  down  ;  "but  it's 
humbug,  one  always  has  to  go  to  the  premiere  for  it. 
Now  ;  is  there  nothing  else  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"No,  indeed  ;  and  I  can't  thank  you  enough,"  de- 
clared Portia,   earnestly. 

She  had  come  out  upon  the  landing,  and  with  her 
veil  thrown  back,  her  face  a  little  burned  by  the  sun, 
and  her  eyes  enlarged,  by  fatigue  and  excitement, 
looked  even  more  striking  than  of  custom. 

"You  know  Miss  Ross,  I  suppose,"  she  asked 
hesitatingly. 

"I've  known  her  since  I  moved  into  the  atelier  be- 
low. I  have  a  studio  here  with  a  friend,  and  we  go 
into  her  rooms  sometimes — he  and  I — in  the  even- 
ing, when  we're  feeling  down  about  our  work.'" 

"About  your  work.?"  repeated  Portia,  interroga- 
tively. 

"Yes;  we  get  discouraged  sometimes,  and  we 
make  each  other  worse.  Then  we  go  to  Anna  Ross. 
You  may  be  sure  of  hearing  the  truth  from  her — about 
that  and  everything  else.  She's  great  fun,  too,  don't 
you  think  }     Are  you  going  to  work  with  her }  " 

"  Oh  no ;  I  don't  think  so;  I  can't  draw  even," 
said  Portia  ;  and,  confused  by  the  recollection  of  all 
she  had  seen  in  her  friend's  room  she  half  extended 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORTIA  JAMES.  171 

her  hand  in  token  of  farewell.  "I'll  tell  Anna  how 
you  came  to  my  assistance." 

"Oh,  we're  always  assisting  each  other  in  this 
commvmity,"  he  laughed.  "Tell  Miss  Ross  I'm  ex- 
pecting my  friend  over  in  a  few  weeks  ;  but  that  I 
shall  be  very  lonely  until  he  comes.  You  won't  for- 
get, will  you,  to  impress  that  fact  upon  her?" 

"No,"  replied  Portia,  diffidently.  She  was  con- 
scious that  she  was  blushing,  and  both  the  fact  and 
the  consciousness  of  it  were  equally  annoying  to 
her.  The  result  of  her  annoyance  was  that  she  with- 
drew her  hand,  and  bestowed  a  stiff  little  bow  upon 
her  gentleman-help,  as  he  turned  to  descend  the 
staircase,  instead  of  the  cordial  hand-shake  with 
which  she  had  felt  impelled  a  moment  ago  to  mark 
her  sense  of  her  eratilude  towards  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

An  hour  later,  after  Portia  had  performed  her  ablu- 
tions with  the  aid  of  the  water  brought  her  by  her 
self-constituted  help  (it  was  the  famous  eau  de  la 
Vaii7ie,  as  pure  and  soft  as  freshly-fallen  rain),  and 
had  seated  herself  with  a  towel  around  her  shoulders 
for  the  further  refreshment  of  a  brushing  and  comb- 
ing of  her  beautiful  hair,  streaming  in  undulating  pro- 
fusion down  her  back,  she  was  aware  of  a  step  com- 
ing up  the  stairs  with  a  slow  pounding  footfall  that 
seemed  to  denote  that  the  owner  of  it  was  very  tired, 
but  refused  to  acknowledge  the  fact.  It  must  be 
Anna,  she  reflected,  straightening  herself  expectantly 
upon  her  chair ;  and  Anna  it  was  in  truth.  Before 
the  friends  meet,  however,  it  may  be  as  well  to  in- 
form the  reader,  in  two  words,  who  and  what  this 
acquaintance  of  our  heroine's  was. 

She  was  7iol  in  any  case  what  the  French  call  la 
premiere  venue,  for  in  her  person,  as  in  her  mind, 
Anna  Ross  possessed  a  strange  and  strongly  marked 
individuality.  Scientific  people  declared  her  to  be 
simply  a  curious  instance  of  atavism.     Belonging  to 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES.  173 

a  good  English  county  family  of  the  most  approved, 
fair-skinned,  conventional,  Church-and-State-respect- 
ing  type,  she  had  performed  at  a  very  early  age  the 
feat  known  in  equine  metaphor  as  that  of  "kicking- 
over  the  traces."  Not  all  the  combined  influences  of 
family,  county.  Church  and  State,  pressing  with  their 
united  force  upon  this  one  little  rebel  could  force  her 
into  the  mould — a  very  bed  of  Procrustes  in  its  way 
— that  social  usage  had  prepared  for  her.  Her  very 
appearance — her  sisters  were  all  of  the  blonde  and 
lym.phatic  type — was  a  kind  of  defiance  hurled  at  her 
progenitors.  Even  in  her  childish  days  it  was  im- 
possible to  look  at  her  without  thinking  of  an  Indian 
squaw — if  one  could  imagine  such  a  thing  as  an  in- 
tellectual squaw — and  the  likeness  seemed  to  become 
more  accentuated  as  she  grew  older.  There  was  the 
coarse,  jet-black,  heavy  hair,  growing  low  upon  a 
narrow  forehead,  and  parting  naturally  in  the  middle  ; 
there  was  the  high  cheekbones  and  the  unmistakable 
aquiline  nose  ;  there  were  the  black  eyes  that  con- 
tracted, all  unconsciously,  into  a  narrowing  line 
when  their  owner  was  interested  or  excited  ;  and,  to 
to  crown  all,  there  was  the  swarthy,  un-English  skin. 
The  lips  in  repose  said  little.  Their  prevailing  ex- 
pression was  one  of  strongly  exercised  self-repres- 
sion. They  could  bend  into  curves  that  were  both 
tender  and  cruel  as  occasion  demanded.  The  figure 
was  of  the  supple,  untrammelled  order — not  tall  and 


174  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

not  daintily  waisted,  but  flexible  and  muscular.  It 
.  was  known  that  on  the  mother's  side  Anna  descended 
4-n  a  direct  line  from  an  Enghsh  officer  who  had 
fought  in  the  war  with  America,  and  who  had  con- 
tracted an  alliance  a  la  mode  du  pays,  with  a  Chock- 
taw  or  Chickasaw  belle.  On  his  return  to  England 
he  had  been  accompanied  by  a  strange-eyed  little 
girl,  to  whom  he  had  given  the  name  and  privileges 
of  a  daughter,  and  who  certainly  resembled  him  suffi- 
ciently to  warrant  the  appellation.  It  had  been  sup- 
posed, however,  at  the  end  of  several  generations, 
of  which  each  succeeding  one  had  grown  fairer  and 
more  English  than  the  last,  that  the  alloy  of  savage 
blood  must  now  have  had  filtering  enough  through 
English  veins  to  prevent  the  risk  of  any  such  catas- 
trophe occurring  as  that  known  to  breeders  as  a 
"throw  back,"  when  Anna's  disconcerting  identity 
set  all  these  calculations  at  naught.  From  her  baby- 
hood she  remained  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  her  family, 
and  as  soon  as  she  reached  woman's  estate  she  left 
her  home  for  good.  The  pittance  she  received  from 
her  relatives,  who  strongly  condemned  her  course 
of  life,  was  just  sufficient  to  relieve  their  consciences 
from  the  stigma  of  allowing  her  to  die  of  starvation. 
She  earned,  however,  a  little  by  her  brush  In  age 
she  might  have  been  anything  between  five-and- 
twenty  and  five-and-thirty.  The  contrast  of  her 
black  hair  and   eyes    with    her   sallow    skin,  and  a 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  175 

certain  undefinable  mai^nctic  attraction  that  she 
possessed  to  a  remarkable  degree,  caused  her  to  be  a 
good  deal  noticed  when  she  walked  in  the  streets  of. 
Paris.  She  wore  a  masculine  jacket,  with  a  dark  hat 
and  veil,  and  a  close-fitting  short  skirt  in  all  seasons. 
Her  hands  and  feet  were  models.  They  were,  in- 
deed, the  only  points  in  connection  with  her  personal 
appearance  upon  which  she  might  be  said  to  display 
the  smallest  symptoms  of  coquetry.  Indifference 
and  stolidity  were  the  qualities  she  aimed  at  cultivat- 
ing outwardly,  and  she  was  rarely  betrayed  into 
manifesting  the  least  token  of  pleasure  or  surprise. 

This,  as  she  appeared  to  the  outside  world,  was  the 
young  woman  who  now  opened  the  door  of  the  studio 
where  Portia  was  seated.  In  her  right  hand  she 
carried  a  paper  bag  that  obviously  contained  butter. 
In  her  left,  her  paint-box,  a  three-legged  folding- 
stool,  and  an  immense  bunch  of  freshly  gathered  pop- 
pies. Upon  beholding  her  visitor  her  black  brows 
showed  a  transitory,  almost  imperceptible  elevation. 

"I  thought  it  might  be  you,"  she  said  ;  "the  con- 
cierge told  me  'une  demoiselle'  had  taken  the  key. 
No,"  as  Portia  rose  to  greet  her,  "don't  speak  to  me 
till  I  have  put  the  butter  into  water." 

She  swept  past,  and  dived  under  a  cupboard  for  a 
crock  of  water,  into  which  she  tossed  her  butter. 
Then  scooping  up  a  handful  of  rock-salt  from  a 
receptacle  at  hand,  she  scattered  it  over  the  contents. 


176  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

Her  eyes  travelled  over  the  crock  containing  the  loaf. 
"  IMice  again!  '  she  said  briefly;  "I  must  give 
them  another  dose.  I  hate  myself  for  doing  it,  but 
Rousky  says  they're  in  a  very  low  stage  of  develop- 
ment as  mice,  and  it's  only  helping  them  on  to 
something  better.  I'm  not  sure,  though,  I  should 
care  to  be  helped  on  in  that  particular  way — im- 
proved off  by  poison.  Well  !  "  she  turned  round  to 
her  visitor,  "let  me  wish  you  ihe  bie?i  ve7iue,"  and, 
bending  down,  she  kissed  the  young  girl  gravely 
between  the  eyes.  Portia  would  have  thrown  her 
arms  about  Anna's  neck,  but  the  latter  repulsed  her 
with  a  firm,  though  kindly,  hand. 

"  There,  sit  down,  my  dear,"  seating  herself  at  the 
table  opposite  to  her,  and  regarding  her  with  attentive 
eyes.  "You  mayn't  know  it,  but  you're  much  pret- 
tier than  you  used  to  be — and,  good  gracious  !  child, 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  had  such  hair?  It's 
marvellous.  I'll  make  a  sketch  of  you  like  that  to- 
morrow— An  Impenitent  Magdalen.  No,  that  wouldn't 
do!  A  Potential  Magdalen.  Is  that  better.?  Your 
hair  is  wonderful — and  what  a  colour  !  Simple  as  you 
stand  there,  as  the  Irish  say,  you  could  make  a  for- 
tune as  a  model  ;  but  I  must  have  first  choice.  By 
the  bye,  I  had  your  telegram  yesterday,  so  I  hardly 
expected  you  to-day.  I  thought  your  fate  was  sealed. 
I'm  glad  you  thought  better  of  it  at  the  last." 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  say  I  thought  worse  of  it  when 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  177 

you  hear  all,"  said  Portia.  She  essayed  to  speak 
lightly,  but  her  lips  were  trembling  visibly.  "  I  was 
married  yesterday." 

"And  you've  managed  to  get  rid  of  your  husband 
already  !  Bravo  !  you  must  tell  me  how  you  did  it. 
1  shouldn't  mind  being  married  myself  on  those 
terms.  It's  an  exact  illustration  of  what  Rousky  was 
saying  the  other  night.  The  ideals  are  only  perfect, 
he  said,  as  long  as  they  remain  ideals.  If  you  try  to 
introduce  facts  into  them  you  spoil  them.  Monarchy 
without  a  monarch,  religion  without  a  god,  and 
marriage  without  a  husband.  That  would  be  perfect ! 
But  tell  me  how  you  did  it } " 

"I'll  tell  you  all,"  said  Portia,  gravely,  "if  you'll 
only  be  serious,  Anna.  It's  a  thing  I  can't  help  being 
matter-of-fact  about  myself,  for  I  mind  it  so  much  ; 
and  then  I'm  matter-of-fact  about  most  things.  I 
want  you  to  help  me  in  two  ways — to  hide  me  away 
first,  and  then  to  advise  me  about  what  I'd  better  do 
next. " 

"Well,  you  must  tell  me  first.  Meanwhile,  I'll 
make  you  some  tea.  But  don't  put  your  hair  up  on 
any  account ;  I  want  to  study  an  effect.'' 

She  went  to  the  broad  windows  and  drew  aside 
one  of  the  curtains.  The  afternoon  sun  came  pouring 
through  the  pane,  scattering  gilt  and  bronze  over 
Portia's  pendent  locks,  and  framing  her  head  in  a 
nimbus  of  amber  light.      "There,  that'll  do.      Now, 


12 


178  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

don't  stir  from  where  you  are,  and  you  can  talk  on 
while  I'm  making  the  tea." 

It  was  pleasant  to  Portia  to  watch  Anna's  move- 
ments as  she  performed  this  housewifely  office.  Her 
hands  were  unlike  any  she  had  ever  seen  before. 
There  was  a  deftness  and  celerity  in  their  way  of 
going  to  work  that  spoke  of  the  long  apprenticeship 
they  must  have  had.  Never  had  tea  tasted  so  delicious 
in  all  her  experience  as  this  first  cup  of  Anna's  making. 
And  the  delicate  rounds  oi pain  dc  gniau  spread  with 
the  unequalled  Paris  butter  !  If  Anna  would  only  let 
her  live  altogether  upon  such  fare  as  this,  she  would 
ask  for  nothing  better.  She  felt  ashamed  that  it  should 
be  possible  for  her  to  like  it  all  so  well,  at  the  very 
moment  when  she  was  about  to  unfold  a  tale  of 
wrong  and  error  and  suffering — the  narrative  of 
three  wrecked  lives,  her  own  among  the  number. 
Anna,  however,  obliged  her  to  speak,  and  it  was  in 
obedience  to  her  request  that  she  narrated  from 
beginning  to  end  the  chapter  of  her  life's  history  that 
we  know. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"You've  done  the  best  thing  you  could  do  under 
the  circumstances,''  was  Anna's  verdict  when  Portia 
had  come  to  an  end  of  her  story.  "  Even  according 
to  benighted  Catholic  laws  I  believe  you  would  be 
able  to  get  a  divorce.  And  I  suppose  a  divorce  is  the 
only  solution  of  the  difficulty  you  would  care  about." 

"The  only  one,"  said  Portia,  firmly.  "I  can  see 
you  think  it  was  shockingly  weak-minded  of  me  to 
let  myself  be  married  at  all  with  such  a  feeling  as  I 
had.  But  I  used  to  care  for  John  at  one  time — at 
least,  I  always  believed  1  did.  And  then,  how  could 
I  have  imagined  he  was  deceiving  me.-*  " 

"  I  should  not  have  waited  for  that  to  give  him  his 
conge,  if  I  had  been  you.  To  believe  one  has  cared 
for  a  person  at  sometime  or  another  is  rather  a  luke- 
warm sentiment  to  start  marriage  upon,  don't  you 
think  ?  I  suppose  you  thought  if  there  was  no  great 
love  in  the  beginning,  'heaven  may  decrease  it  upon 
better  acquaintance.'  Well,  you  are  safe  out  of  his 
reach  now,  at  any  rate  !  You  don't  imagine  they 
would  ever  think  of  looking  for  you  here  .?  " 


l8o  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"Never  !  They  don't  even  know  you  are  in  Paris. 
But,  oh  !  Anna,  I  feel  so  lost  I  don't  know  what  I 
am  going  to  do. " 

"  Do  !  I'll  find  you  plenty  to  do.  Never  fear. 
You've  been  nothing  but  a  summer  insect  till  now.  I 
suppose  you  only  thought  of  gadding  about  amusing 
yourself  all  the  time  you  were  in  London." 

"Not  much  else.  There  was  the  riding  in  the 
morning,  and  sometimes  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  Emma 
always  liked  me  to  go  shopping  or  visiting  with  her. 
And  when  we  were  not  at  balls,  there  were  theatres 
or  concerts.  It  was  all  pleasure  from  morning  to 
night. " 

"Well,  it  won't  be  all  pleasure  here,  then,  I  can 
tell  you,"  said  Anna,  grimly.  "At  least,  not  that 
kind  of  pleasure — though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  such 
a  life  as  you  have  been  describing  would  be  hateful 
to  me." 

''\was  getting  a  little  tired  of  it  too,"  admitted 
Portia.  "It  was  awfully  nice,  but  somehow  it 
always  seemed  to  lead  to  nothing." 

"You  may  say  that  of  existence  altogether,  as 
Rousky  does,"  put  in  Anna. 

"Who  is  the  Rousky  you  are  always  quoting.?" 
asked  Portia.  "  Last  time  I  saw  you  it  was  a  VVilu- 
ski  who  was  the  oracle.  You  used  to  tell  me  so 
much  about  his  ideas." 

"  Did  I  ?  "     There  was  a  momentary  inexplicable 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  j.'i.uj^^.  i8i 

gleam  in  Anna's  black  eyes,  accompanied  by  an  enig- 
matic half  smile,  more  sardonic  than  mirthful.  "I 
had  forgotten.  It  must  be  some  time  back.  I  don't 
know  where  Wiluski  is  now.  But  to  come  back  to 
your  own  affairs.  I  cant  /aire  des  phrases — I  never 
could  ;  but  you  had  better  know,  once  for  all,  that  I 
consider  your  coming  to  me  about  the  most  gratify- 
ing compliment  you  could  have  paid  me.  You  are 
going  to  let  me  be  responsible  for  you  for  the  present .? 
I  should  like  to  teach  you  how  to  depend  upon  your- 
self a  little,  so  that  you  won't  risk  marrying  only  for 
the  sake  of  pleasing  other  people  another  time.  You 
haven't  brought  any  money  with  you,  I  hope .''  " 

"N — no  ;  a  few  pounds  only." 

"It's  more  than  you  want.  If  you  had  come  as 
a  rich  person  I  shouldn't  have  let  you  stay.  We  don't 
admit  riches  here.  We  don't  tolerate  the  epicier  ele- 
ment among  us,  excepting  when  we  have  a  picture 
to  sell.  You'll  be  able  to  earn  as  much  money  as 
you  need." 

"I  earn  money!  "  exclaimed  Portia,  with  shame- 
faced pleasure  in  her  looks.  ' '  I  never  earned  a  penny 
in  my  Hfe.      I  shouldn't  know  how  !  " 

"Then  it's  more  than  time  you  began.  You  may 
pose  for  the  tete  d' expression  first  of  all,  and  for  your 
hair,  and  your  neck,  and  your  arms,  et puis  nous  verrons  ! 
It's  tiring  work  at  first ;  but  you'll  get  into  it.  And 
now  I  must  clear  out  a  corner  of  the  atelier  for  you 


l82  THE  PENANCE  OF  POKTIA  JAMES. 

to  sleep  in  to-night.  To-morrow  we  can  find  a  room 
somewhere,  if  you're  not  comfortable.  And  you'll 
have  to  come  to  dinner  with  mc  at  Clootz's  to-night. 
It's  quite  close  at  hand." 

"Whatever  you  like,"  assented  Portia.  She  had 
put  herself  entirely  into  Anna's  hands,  antl  was  per- 
fectly content  to  abide  by  her  decision  in  all  things  ; 
to  surrender  to  her  even  that  newly-found  liberty 
which  she  had  decmcil  it  so  great  a  jirisilcgc  to  .ob- 
tain. It  was  a  relief  under  the  present  circumstances 
to  be  saved  from  the  responsibility  of  thinking  and 
acting  for  herself  As  for  measuring  the  distance  that 
separated  Anna's  way  of  living  from  the  way  in  which 

Wilmer  and  Emma  lived — the  way  in  which  she 
herself  and  all  the  Kensington  household  had  lived 
as  well — these  were  .considerations  that  could  have 
no  kind  of  weight  with  her.  Portia's  mind  was  of  a 
plastic  mould,  and  she  was  still  at  a  plastic  age.  To 
find  herself  in  a  luxurious  English  home  one  day, 
and  to  have  to  share  a  single  room  on  a  Paris  qua- 
irienie  with  a  friend  the  next,  was  a  contrast  of  which 
she  was  more  likeh'  to  see  the  amusing  than  the  in- 
convenient side.  When  she  foiuid  that  Anna  pos- 
sessed a  tub,  and  that  the  antagonistic  concierge  filled 
it  nightly  with  the  beautiful  emi  dc.  la  Vanne  ;  also  that 
she  might  hire  a  similar  luxury  for  herself,  all  mis- 
givings as  regarded  her  new  local  were  done  away 
with.     Anna,  moreover,  was  a  woman  of  fertile  con- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  183 

trivaiices.  To  see  her  transform  a  cumbersornc-look- 
iiig  easy-chair  into  a  couch  and  wheel  it  behind  the 
faded  blue  curtain,  whisk  off  an  extra  mattress  from 
her  camp  bedstead  and  place  it  ui)on  the  couch,  un- 
strap Portia's  rugs  and  arrange  the  coverlet  and  pil- 
lows comfortably  thereupon  ;  clear  out  drawers  and 
placards  for  her  to  put  her  things  into,  set  the  fast- 
dropping  poppies  in  water  and  shake  them  out  into 
the  full  display  of  their  crimson  glories,  wash  up  the 
cups  and  saucers,  and  sprinkle  her  charcoal  sketches 
with  fixatif  before  putting  them  by  in  her  portfolio, 
was  to  be  impressed  anew  with  a  profound  sense  of 
her  neat-handedness  and  orderliness.  In  this,  at 
least,  she  showed  none  of  the  ancestral  tendencies  ;  or 
possibly  the  military  precision  of  the  husband  of  the 
squaw  had  counteracted  in  his  descendants  the  laisscr- 
aller  principle  of  savage  races  as  regards  domestic 
arrangements. 

"I'm  doing  nothing  to  help  you,"  said  Portia,  at 
last.  She  had  been  partly  gazing  out  of  the  window 
into  the  courtyard  below,  that  looked  a  territic  way 
down,  partly  watching  her  friend's  operations  in  naive 
and  wondering  admiration.  "You  should  give  me 
something  to  do,  Anna." 

"Oh  ;  you  must  be  content  to  fill  a  decorative  role 
for  to-day.  You'll  have  all  your  work  cut  out  for  you 
soon,  I  can  tell  you.  Now  I'm  going  to  do  your  hair 
for  you  as  /  like  it. " 


1 84  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

And  to  this  also  Portia  submitted,  and  gratefully 
And  by  the  time  the  red-gold  coil  was  twisted  in  Cin- 
galese fashion  behind  her  head,  where,  to  her  aston- 
ishment, Anna  fixed  it  with  a  solitary  silver  arrow, 
it  was  time  to  go  to  dinner. 

"You  needn't  put  on  your  cloak,"  Anna  told  her ; 
and  Portia,  all  unconscious  that  her  friend  had  designs 
of  showing  her  off,  submissively  did  as  she  was 
ordered.  Descending  the  four  flights  of  stairs  and 
passing  through  the  courtyard,  v/hcre  they  did  not 
meet  a  soul,  Anna  conducted  her  through  unknown 
streets  to  Clootz's. 

This  famous  restaurant  to  which  Portia  was  intro- 
duced was  of  a  kind  much  frequented  by  students  and 
artists  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  those  who  were  ranged 
in  the  category  of  les  petitcs  bourses.  In  later  days 
they  would  probably  refer  to  Clootz's  as  "una  gar- 
gote  "  ;  but  in  their  actual  necessitous  days — before 
they  had,  in  their  own  vocabulary,  "arrived" — they 
were  very  glad  to  assemble  at  the  small  tables  in  the 
small,  smoke-filled  dining-room — at  one  end  of  which 
the  restaurateur  and  his  wife  carried  on  their  cooking 
operations  in  full  view  of  the  customers — and  there 
dine  off  a  potage  and  the  plat  dujour,  or  some  similar 
luxury,  for  the  not  too  extortionate  sum  of  one  franc 
or  a  franc  and  a  half,  with  occasional  credit  for  the 
same  when  funds  were  low.  English  and  American 
artists  of  both  sexes  favoured  Clootz's.     The  fare,  to 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  /AMES.  185 

be  sure,  was  not  very  delicate,  but  the  "portions" 
were  more  liberal  than  at  :x  Duval's,  and  the  publicity 
of  the  cooking-  was  a  guarantee  against  the  harbour- 
ing of  sundry  dark  suspicions  that  are  apt  to  trouble  the 
appetites  of  the  frequenters  of  one-franc  restaurants. 
Besides  which,  there  was  always  the  option  of  dining 
a  la  carle — a  person  with  extravagant  tastes  and  an 
inordinate  appetite  might  spend  from  three  to  four 
francs  at  Clootz's— and  for  an  extra  halfpenny  you 
might  have  a  clean  cloth  to  cover  the  stained  marble 
in  front  of  you.  There  was  only  room  for  four  people 
at  each  table,  and  even  so  the  fit  was  rather  a  tight 
one.  But  anybody  who  was  an  habitue  was  sure  to 
encounter  friends  enough  at  Clootz's  to  make  up  a 
table  of  his  own  ;  and  in  that  case  it  was  an  advan- 
tage to.  make  exchanges  of  half-plates  of  petits  pois 
ox  flageolets  with  one's  neighbours,  by  which  means 
you  were  enabled  to  vary  the  menu,  and  have  quite  a 
number  of  different  plats  for  your  twenty  or  five-and- 
twenty  sous.  • 

Portia  had  been  to  the  Maison  Dore,  and  had  dined 
at  the  Continental  and  the  Grand  Hotel,  but  she  had 
never  seen  a  restaurant  of  this  kind  before.  She  tried 
not  to  think  that  it  was  rather  "  awful"  (though  this, 
I  fear,  was  the  adjective  that  would  have  most  nearly 
expressed  her  secret  feelings)  as  she  followed  her 
friend  up  the  crowded  room  to  a  table  near  the  cook- 
ing end,  where  the  restaurateur — a  fat  Alsacien,  in  a 


1 86  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

while  paper  cap — was  shaking  potatoes  in  a  frying- 
pan  over  his  stove.  Seated  next  to  Anna,  she  saw- 
that  people  we-e  looking  round  at  thuMn  in  various 
directions,  and  that  here  and  there  a  heatl  would  bow 
recognition.  The  atmosphere  was  impregnated  with 
cigar-smoke,  and  one  did  not  require  to  be  a  con- 
noisseur, any  more  than  Portia  was,  to  feel  (as  she 
did)  that  it  had  not  the  fragrance  of  the  atmosphere 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  when  Wilmer  and  his 
friends  were  smoking.  Anna  acknowledged  the  vari- 
ous bows  she  received  by  stately  little  nods.  She 
had  turned  back  her  veil  square  across  her  forehead, 
and,  sitting  in  the  shade,  in  her  masculine  jacket,  with 
her  jet-black  hair,  her  sallow  skin,  and  the  curious  con- 
tour of  her  face,  bore  an  odd  resemblance  to  the  effigy 
of  an  Egyptian  Pharaoh  as  handed  down  to  us  in  the 
paintings  on  some  old-world  sarcophagus.  After  a 
time  Portia  became  aware  that  somebody  was  bow- 
ing to  her,  and  for  an  instant  her  heart  stood  still. 
But  it  was  only  her  "  gentleman-help,"  seated  among 
a  group  with  whom  he  was  engaged  in  an  apparently 
animated  discussion.  His  bow  in  her  direction 
caused  the  others  to  look  at  her  for  the  first  time,  and, 
placed  as  she  was,  she  could  not  help  being  conscious 
that  they  were  asking  him  questions  about  her. 

Anna,  meanwhile,  had  been  giving  her  orders  to 
the  gar^on,  a  country-bred  youth  fresh  from  his  pays, 
with  a  face  as  unlike  the  cynical  mask  of  the  typical 


THE  rE NANCE  OE  POKTIA  JAMES,  1S7 

gargon  as  possible.  Bouillon  with  a  powdering  of 
/romage  rape,  lele  de  veau  a  I'huile,  haricots  ver Is,  and 
creme  Suisse,  composed  the  ;«e?/«  she  submitted  grave- 
ly to  her  companion's  ai)proval.  Portia  declared  her 
readiness  to  like  whatever  Anna  did.  Her  tastes  were 
eclectic — a  consequence,  no  doubt,  of  that  plasticity 
of  temperament  and  of  age  already  referred  to,  which 
was  one  of  her  prominent  qualities.  She  persuaded 
herself  therefore,  that  the  better  portion  of  the  ear  of 
a  cold  calf's-head,  soused  in"  oil,  and  plentifully  be- 
sprinkled with  chopped  onions,  was  the  most  delect- 
able diet  in  the  world,  and  was  only  sorry  she  could 
not  honestly  like  the  viii  ordinaire,  that  seemed  to 
have  such  a  taste  of  ink,  which  Anna  continued  to 
press  upon  her. 

Between  the  intervals  that  followed  the  arrival  of 
the  "portions"  (and  they  were  very  long  ones,  the 
country-bred  gargon  being  the  only  aid  that  the  res- 
taurateur and  his  wife  allowed  themselves),  Portia 
learned  a  good  deal  respecting  the  company  at 
Clootz's.  Her  "  gentleman-help'"  had  had,  itseemed, 
a  landscape  in  the  Salon.  He  had  colour,  but  was  no 
draughtsman,  and  would  have  to  "  piocher  "  a  good 
deal,  in  Anna's  opinion,  before  he  could  come  to  the 
front.  The  group  he  was  with  was  made  up  of  three 
American  artists  and  one  Australian.  They  were  all 
in  the  atelier  of  Jean  Paul  Laurens,  and  one  of  them 
had  also  had  a  head  in  the  Salon,  of  which  the  Figaro 


1 88  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

hiid  said  that  it  had  "  dcs  qualitcs  remarquables. " 
Behind  them,  the  man  with  the  dark  beard  and  the 
girl  with  the  deUcately-cut  face  worked  at  the  same 
studio  ;  you  generally  saw  them  together.  The  lady 
sitting  alone  reading  the  Pelil  Journal  was  an  Amer- 
ican.     Her  line  was  wood-engraving. 

"And  does  it — docs  it  pay  them.?"  asked  Portia, 
timidly,  though  slie  had  hardly  uttered  the  words 
before  she  would  have  liked  to  retract  them.  To 
look  upon  art  as  a  means  to  an  end,  when  it  was  so 
evidently,  in  Anna's  eyes,  and  in  those  of  all  her 
friends,  the  be-all  and  end-all  itself,  was,  she  felt,  a 
sordid  and  Philistinish  point  of  view.  But  to  her 
relief  Anna  answered  her  matter-of-fact  question  in 
just  as  matter-of-fact  a  way. 

"None  of  them  are  arrive  yet,  or  they  wouldn't  be 
here.  Some  are  well  on  their  way,  though  ;  others 
have  about  as  much  as  they  can  do  to  scrape  along. 
There  are  not  many  among  those  you  see  who  have 
made  it  pay  in  the  sense  of  living  by  their  art." 

"  But  you  have  .''  "  hazarded  Portia. 

"I  have — nearly,"  said  Anna,  shortly  ;  "but  I've 
gone  in  for  rather  an  expensive  rt/^//(?r.  Sixty  pounds 
a  year — that's  what  my  rent  comes  to.  My  living 
costs  me  from  two  to  two  francs  fifty  a  day  ;  then 
one  has  to  dress  in  some  kind  of  way  ;  and  colours  and 
studio  expenses  (I  go  to  Laurens,  too,  you  know)  arc 
pretty   heavy.     I  scjld  a  little  '  plein  air '  this  year, 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  189 

thouy;h — an  old  woman  i  did  on  the  beach  at  Etretat 
— so  I'm  in  funds  just  now.  But,  see,  there  is  Rousky 
coming." 

She  half  rose  from  her  place,  and  motioned  to 
Portia  to  remove  her  parasol  and  gloves  from  the  place 
opposite  to  her,  towards  which  the  young  man  she 
called  Rousky  was  making  his  way.  As  he  came 
closer  Portia  could  not  refrain  from  casting  a  look  of 
interested  curiosity  in  the  direction  of  this  friend  and 
oracle  of  Miss  Ross's.  Rousky  was  a  man  apparently 
under  thirty  years  of  age,  with  nothing  in  his  lean 
personality  and  bearded  face  to  distinguish  him  save 
a  pair  of  most  remarkable  blue  eyes,  which  might  al- 
most have  been  said  to  kindle,  in  the  literal  sense  of 
the  word.  They  seemed,  in  contradiction  to  all  opti- 
cal laws,  to  gather  their  light  from  within,  and  made 
Portia  feel  for  an  instant  as  though  she  were  in  the 
presence  of  an  illuminate  or  a  seer.  His  nostrils  were 
somewhat  wide,  and  his  cheeks  betrayed  the  forma- 
tion of  the  Kalmuck's  skull.  The  general  coloring 
was  fair.  The  head-covering  a  "  beret,"  which  he 
pulled  off  before  shaking  hands  with  Anna  and  seating 
himself  in  the  place  pointed  out  to  him.  The  clothes 
— a  much-worn  slop-suit,  flannel  shirt,  and  carelessly- 
knotted  black  tie. 

"This  is  Ivan  Evarchus  Rousky,"  said  Anna,  at 
once  introducing  him  to  her  companion.  "Is  that 
right? "  she  laughed — "and  Miss ? "    She  paused, 


IQO  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

in  order  to  give  Portia  time  to  decide  by  what  name 
she  would  choose  to  be  called, 

Rousky  had  turned  his  eyes  like  beacon-fires  upon 
her.  In  obedience  to  a  curious  impulse  that  she  could 
not  account  for  to  herself,  and  as  thoug-h  that  look, 
like  the  very  touch  of  Truth,  could  penetrate  all  dis- 
guises, she  said  simply,  "Portia,"  and  went  on  with 
her  dinner.  Rousky  bowed,  but  paid  no  further  at- 
tention to  her.  Anna  drew  a  book  from  her  coat 
pocket,  printed  in  characters  which  suggested  nothing 
to  Portia's  imagination  save  the  "unknown  tongues" 
in  type,  and  opened  it  at  a  ])assage  which  she  asked 
him  to  read  aloud  for  her. 

"The  Kreuzer  Sonala/"  he  murmured,  turning  it 
over  ;  his  manner  of  pronouncing  his  "the"'  had  a 
careful  precision  that  proved  his  knowledge  of  English 
to  be  an  acquirement  of  later  years.  His  voice  was 
amazingly  soft.  He  glanced  through  the  pages  before 
reading  the  passage  Anna  had  asked  for,  absorbing 
their  contents,  as  it  appeared,  in  a  manner  peculiar 
to  himself,  for  all  the  time  he  was  softly  humming 
the  refrain  of  "  Pere  la  Victoire  "  through  his  closed 
lips.      "Why  did  you  choose  that.''" 

"Because  I've  read  everything  else  of  Tolstoi's. 
If  you  don't  choose  to  read  me  the  passage  I  showed 
you,  give  me  back  the  book." 

Her  tone  was  imperious.  He  raised  his  head  and 
glanced  at  her.      She  returned  his  look,  and  they  had 


THE  PENANCE  OF  POKT/A  /AMES.  191 

a  passage  at  arms,  not  in  words,  but — mutely — witli 
their  eyes,  exchanging  glances  that  made  Portia  think 
of  keen-edged  swords,  and  electric  discharges  from 
thunder-clouds.  By-and-by,  a  certain  troubled  ex- 
pression gathered  in  the  black  depths  of  Anna's  eyes. 
She  lowered  them  gently,  and  Rousky  read  aloud,  in 
a  language  which,  despite  the  musical  cultivation  of 
his  voice,  corresponded,  to  Portia's  thinking,  with 
the  break-jaw  complexity  of  the  characters,  the  pas- 
sage that  Anna  had  pointed  out  to  him. 

The  reading  was  followed  by  a  conversation  in 
which  our  heroine  felt,  as  she  owned  to  herself,  very 
much  "out  of  it."  The  names  of  Tolstoi,  Dolsto- 
ievsky,  Tourguenief,  and  many  others,  about  which 
they  spoke,  were  all  unknown  to  her.  To  Anna  and 
her  friend  they  seemed  to  furnish  a  topic  for  endless 
discussion.  "  Tolstoi  !"  said  Rousky  once,  with  a 
shrug,  "he  is  only  a  kind  of  neonomian  !  "  Where- 
upon Anna  demanded  that  the  signification  of  the 
word  "neonomian,"  and  its  applicability  to  Tolstoi, 
should  be  expounded  to  her.  But  to  do  this  it  was 
necessary  to  refer  to  the  Kreuzer  Sonata  once  more, 
and  to  determine  just  what  Tolstoi  had  in  his  mind 
when  he  wrote  it.  When  they  came  to  this  part  of 
their  subject  Rousky  relapsed  into  French,  and  Anna 
answered  him  in  the  same  language,  so  that  Portia, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  she  strained  her  ears 
and  her  brain  to  the  uttermost,    only  gleaned  frag- 


192  THE  rENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

mentary  bits  of  the  conversation.  Occasionally, 
however,  she  heard  things  which  inclined  her  to 
surmise  that  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  as  well  that  her 
powers  of  comprehending-  the  whole  should  be  so 
limited.  Pier  mental  pabulum  hitherto  had  been  of 
the  milk-for-babes  quality,  and  the  kind  she  was 
assimilating  now  would  have  been  pungent  fare  even 
to  seasoned  palates.  Besides  which,  though  Anna 
and  her  friend  appeared  very  much  in  earnest  in  what 
they  were  talking  about,  they  did  not  seem  to  affix 
any  standard  of  right  or  wrong  to  the  actions  of  the 
characters  they  discussed.  How  they  would  prob- 
ably have  felt  themselves  if  they  had  been  placed 
under  conditions  which  induced  them  to  commit  a 
murder  like  the  hero  of  a  book  they  were  talking 
about  was  a  notion,  for  instance,  that  they  discussed 
quite  calmly.  Portia  was  a  little  shocked  at  this. 
She  heard  them  characterise  conduct  as  weak  or 
strong,  but  never  as  right  or  wrong.  Nevertheless, 
she  could  not  help  being  interested  in  watching 
Rousky's  eyes.  He  did  not  seem  to  pay  any  heed 
to  his  "portion,"  which  Anna  had  ordered  while  he 
was  speaking,  and  without  consulting  him  (as  though 
she  knew  what  his  preference  must  be  beforehand), 
but  talked  on  with  the  curiously  illuminated  look  that 
had  attracted  Portia  from  the  first.  Hardly  twenty- 
four  hours  since  she  had  left  her  home,  and  into  what 
a  strange  new  world  she  seemed  to  have  entered 


THE  rE NANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  193 

already  !  She  could  not  imagine  what  part  in  it  she 
should  find  to  play.  There  were  moments  when  a 
spasm  of  home-sickness  overcame  her,  and  she  felt 
tempted  to  run  back  to  England  as  fast  as  she  had  run 
away  from  it.  But  in  England  she  would  not  be  her 
own  mistress.  She  had  always  understood  that  there 
a  husband  might_/orc^  his  wife  to  live  with  him,  and 
she  could  not  be  sure  that  even  Wilmer  could  protect 
her  against  a  husband  armed  with  legal  rights.  There 
was  something,  too,  in  the  utter  freedom  of  the  lives 
of  all  these  people  around  her  that  was  beginning  to 
exercise  its  fascination  upon  her.  Each  one  evidently 
did  as  he  pleased,  went  where  he  pleased,  and  lived 
as  he  pleased.  There  could  be  no  Mrs.  Grundy 
where  people  did  not  even  acknowledge  the  existence 
of  that  formidable  abstraction.  After  Rousky  had 
finished  his  dinner  he  asked,  "You  will  be  in  this 
evening }  " 

"  We  shall  be  in,"  said  Anna  pointedly,  glancing  in 
Portia's  direction.  "You  can  come  up  all  the  same  ; 
and  you  had  better  bring  Mr.  Eames  and  youi  Polish 
friend  with  you,  too." 

13 


CHAPTER  XV. 

One  is  inclined  to  regret  sometimes  that  after 
Shakespeare  had  drawn  his  inspired  picture  of  the 
seven  ages  of  man,  he  did  not  add  thereto  a  similar 
presentment  of  the  seven  ages  of  woman.  The  first 
and  the  last  of  these  would  have  been  evidently  the 
same  for  both  sexes,  but  the  intervening  period — the 
one  which  marks  the  rise  and  decline  of  woman's 
influence — the  phases  during  which  she  is  uncon- 
scious of  her  power  and  uses,  it,  or  is  conscious  of  it 
and  abuses  it,  would  have  been  of  a  very  different 
kind,  and  might  have  marked  a  history  as  strange 
and  eventful  as  that  of  any  man  "who  in  his  time 
plays  many  parts."  Maidenhood  and  wifehood  and 
motherhood  might  have  represented  each  their  sep- 
arate act,  fraught  with  at  least  as  great  a  significance 
as  the  ages  of  the  lover,  the  soldier,  and  the  justice, 
and  writers  in  succeeding  ages  would  have  had  their 
choice  of  seven  feminine  parts  to  wliich  they  might 
have  adapted  their  heroines,  as  well  as  of  seven  mas- 
culine parts  for  their  heroes.  In  that  case  Portia 
might  have  found  her  place  in  the  act  which  corre- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  195 

spends  to  the  third  age  in  the  history  of  Shakspeare's 
man.  But  the  act  would  have  been  subdivided,  in 
this  instance,  into  many  separate  scenes  ;  and  to  her 
own  thinking  the  scene  of  her  life  with  Anna  upon 
the  <7«fl/r/^;/ze  of  the  tall  house  in  the  Rue  deVaugirard 
would  not  assuredly  have  been  one  of  the  least 
strange. 

She  had  been  nearly  a  week  under  the  shelter  of 
her  friend's  roof  when  we  sec  her  sitting  alone,  with 
a  letter  from  her  husband  in  her  hand,  enclosed 
under  cover  of  a  missive  from  her  faithful  Eliza. 
Anna  had  gone  to  market,  bidding  her,  as  she  left 
the  room,  be  ready  to  accompany  her  on  her  return 
to  the  studio  of  a  famous  painter,  where  Portia  was 
to  begin  her  apprenticeship  to  the  career  of  a  model. 
The  place  was  steeped  in  the  calm,  warm  atmos- 
phere of  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  under  an 
August  sky  ;  and  the  distant  noises  from  outside — 
the  rumbling  of  the  great  omnibuses,  the  crashing  of 
the  carts  and  carriages,  the  strident  street-cries — 
among  which  the  "  Marchand  d'ha — bi-i-i-i,"  with 
the  long-drawn  nasal  prolonging  of  the  last  syllable, 
had  such  a  dreary  sound — reached  her  ears  through 
the  open  window  in  a  kind  of  softened  cadence. 
The  hour  would  have  been  considered  as  still  very 
early  in  the  Kensington  mansion.  Had  it  not  been 
looked  upon  as  an  astonishing  feat  on  Portia's  part 
to  go  to  the  Academy  even  later  in  the  day  in  that 


196  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

far-away  time,  so  near  as  regarded  the  date,  so 
immeasurably  far  as  regarded  her  own  feelings, 
when  she  had  met  Harry  Tolhurst  on  the  steps? 
Here,  on  the  contrary,  the  morning  seemed  to  be 
well  on — for  before  eight  oc^ck  much  had  already 
been  done  in  Anna's  atelier.  The  room  had  been 
done  for  one  thing.  Anna,  in  morning  deshabille, 
with  a  towel  twisted  round  her  head,  had  swept  the 
floor,  while  Portia  had  dusted  and  tidied.  Then 
there  had  been  the  door  to  open  five  times  in  suc- 
cession— twice  for  the  concierge,  who  brought  the 
water  for  the  tubs  and  came  up  afterwards  with  the 
letters;  and  then  for  the  baker's  woman,  with  her 
yard-long  loaves  ;  for  the  milk- woman,  who  filled 
the  can  hanging  to  the  door-handle  ;  and  for  the 
Auvergnat  with  the  sooty  face  who  brought  the  braise. 
They  had  breakfasted,  besides,  upon  their  usual 
meal  of  cafe  au  lait  and  petits  pains,  and  Portia  had 
washed  up  and  put  by  the  breakfast  things.  The 
week  had  gone  by  slowly— not  that  the  time  had 
hung  heavily  on  her  hands,  for  every  hour  had  been 
charged  with  some  new  and  strange  experience,  but 
that  it  seemed  as  though  untold  ages  had  elapsed 
since  she  had  left  her  home.  She  had  performed  the 
operation  known  as  shaking  into  place  quickly 
enough  as  regarded  her  bodily  requirements,  but  the 
adjusting  of  her  mind  to  her  new  surroundings  had 
not  been  so  easy  a  task.     If  she  had  had  a  vocation 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  197 

as  Anna  had,  or  passionate  convictions  like  some  of 
her  friends,  the  untrammelled  existence  she  was 
free  to  lead  here  would  have  been  everything  her 
heart  could  have  desired.  But  she  was  not  by  any 
means  sure  that  she  possessed  the  necessary  qualifi- 
cations for  the  full  and  proper  appreciation  of  such  a 
life.  She  had  been,  as  Anna  had  said,  a  mere 
summer  insect  hitherto  ;  but  her  wings  had  been 
singed,  and  she  had  flown  for  refuge  to  a  safe 
hiding-place.  Nevertheless,  she  was  still  fluttering 
in  imagination  about  the  scenes  she  had  left.  She 
did  not  mean  to  hide  for  ever.  She  was  quite  will- 
ing in  the  meantime  to  lead  the  life  Anna  had 
mapped  out  for  her  :  to  sit  and  do  model  for  her  in 
the  morning,  to  take  long  walks  with  her  in  the 
afternoon,  to  wander  about  the  Luxembourg  gardens 
— the  quiet  end  of  them — while  Anna  was  at  Laurens, 
to  dine  with  her  at  Clootz's,  and  help  her  make  tea 
in  the  evening  for  the  art-students — men  and  women 
who  climbed  to  the  quafn'eme  a(iev wards — to  earn  her 
livelihood,  and  to  do  her  duty,  in  short,  in  that  state 
of  life  to  which  Anna  would  please  to  call  her  ;  but 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  a  genuine 
enthusiasm  for  such  a  career.  She  had  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  only  resting  on  her  oars 
after  all,  and  that  by-and-by,  she  would  be  steering 
her  way  again  through  the  unknown  seas  beyond. 
Anna  had  enclosed  Portia's  letters  to   Eliza  to  a 


198  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

London  friend,  who  in  her  turn  had  them  dropped 
into  various  post  offices  in  and  near  London,  to 
which  EHza  addressed  them  in  turn.  They  were 
subsequently  called  for  by  her  friend  and  despatched 
to  Paris.  By  this  means  no  clue  to  her  hiding-place 
was  obtainable,  and,  before  revealing  it,  Portia  was 
resolved  that  John  should  give  her  his  written 
promise  to  help  her  to  untie  the  knot  she  had  un- 
wittingly helped  him  to  tie  on  their  wedding  morning. 
She  had  not  written  for  the  first  day,  in  deference  to 
Anna's  strongly-urged  advice  on  the  subject. 

"Let  them  be  anxious,"  she  said.  "  It  won't  kill 
them,  and  they'll  be  all  the  more  ready  to  do  what 
you  want.  "  You  let  them  have  a  notion  where  you 
are,  and  you'll  never  bring  them  to  terms."  Never- 
theless, Portia's  own  anxiety  would  not  let  her  rest, 
and  before  she  liad  been  fifty-six  hours  absent — 
fifty-six  hours  that  had  had  the  effect  of  as  many 
months  in  their  influence  upon  John's  outward 
appearance — Eliza  had  brought  her  mistress  a  note 
containing  the  words  : 

"Dearest  Emma, — I  am  well  and  biding  my  time, 
leading  a  very  peaceable  existence  in  my  hiding- 
place,  and  only  anxious  about  you  and  Wilmer. 
When  you  both  give  me  your  solemn  assurance  that 
my  marriage  may  be  undone,  or  that,  at  any  rate,  I 
may  go  on  living  with  you  as  I  did  when  I  was 
unmarried,  and  never  see  John  again,  I  will  come 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  199 

back,  but  not  before.  Pray,  pray,  tell  mc  all  about 
everything,  and  see  that  my  birds  have  their  fresh 
bath  every  morning." 

Portia  had  received  a  long  letter  in  reply,  wherein 
Emma  had,  as  she  would  have  said,  "bored"  out 
her  heart  to  her  sister-in-law.  She  had  been 
inspired  to  recount  the  whole  scene  of  the  tragic 
discovery  of  the  bride's  disappearance  in  redundant 
German-English— how  she  herself  had  flown  to  the 
conservatory  (Portia  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
metaphor  in  connection  with  the  writer's  proportions) 
where  the  two  gentlemen  were  smoking  :  how  Wil- 
mer  thought  she  must  have  put  her  foot  upon  a  snake 
as  she  had  done  once  in  the  bedroom  at  Yarraman, 
this  being  the  only  occasion  besides  the  actual  one 
upon  which  she  had  run  outside  with  her  hair  in 
crimps.  Portia  smiled  once  more  at  the  vision  of 
Emma  rushing  from  her  apartment  in  casual  attire 
with  pellets  of  hair  upon  her  bare  temples — how  Wil- 
merhad  asked  if  she  was  "  off  her  chump,"  and  she 
had  replied  that  she  was  "wholly  rational"  ;  and 
what  a  terrible  look  John  had  in  his  eyes  when  he  saw 
her  come  in  dressed  in  that  fashion,  with  the  wed- 
ding ring  and  the  opal  ring  in  one  hand  and  the  letter 
for  himself  in  the  other. 

It  did  not  require  Emma's  assurance  to  make  Portia 
believe    that  John    had  looked   terrible.     Had  she 


200  THE  PENAACE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

not  seen  that  very  look  in  her  dreams  night  after 
night  since  the  evening  of  her  flight,  when  she  had 
dreamed  that  he  was  a  raging  lion  ?  The  letter  en- 
tered also  into  as  coherent  a  description  as  the 
writer  was  able  to  give  of  the  scene  that  had  ensued 
between  the  baffled  bridegroom  and  the  relatives  of 
the  bride.  Wilmer  and  Emma  had  both  upbraided 
him  in  turn,  and  he  had  sworn  that  they  were  in  a 
plot  to  rob  him  of  his  wife  ;  that  they  had  nothing  to 
do  with  his  private  concerns,  and  that  whoever  said 
he  had  a  wife  or  a  mistress  when  he  married  uttered  a 
lie.  "And  he  did  slurmen  xxwCil  tohen,  niein  GottI" 
added  Emma,  with  consternation  in  her  handwriting. 
He  had  said  he  would  follow  his  wife  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  Portia  shuddered  as  she  read  this  threat. 
But  subsequent  correspondence  was  of  a  more  reason- 
ing kind.  Wilmer  had  been  very  much  vexed,  his 
wife  wrote,  by  the  scandal  to  which  Portia's  conduct 
had  given  rise.  Already  a  paragraph  headed,  "  Elope- 
ment of  a  Bride  011  her  Wedding  Day,"  had  appeared 
in  one  of  the  papers.  Pie  was  of  opinion  that  Portia 
should  have  put  herself  under  her  brother's  protecr 
tion  instead  of  running  away  and  making  herself  a 
byword.  "  How  could  I  ?  "  she  thought  at  this  point. 
"John  would  have  talked  him  over.  I  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  go." 

Such  had  been  the  nature  of  the  correspondence 
between  the  runaway  and  her  home  until  the  sixth 


THE  PEXANCE  OF  FORTJ A  JAMES.  20I 

morning  after  her  flight,  which  was  marked  by  the 
advent  of  a  letter  from  John  himself. 

Portia  trembled  and  turned  pale  as  she  received  it 
from  the  hands  of  the  concierge.  Sitting  in  the  soli- 
tude of  Anna's  qualnbne,  like  Dame  Malbrook  on  her 
"tour,"  she  opened  it  with  a  heart-sinking  it  was  vain 
to  struggle  against.  The  letter  that  had  been  warm 
under  his  touch  but  yesterday,  was  herein  her  hands 
this  morning.  How  easily  he  might  have  come  with 
his  letter  if  he  had  only  known.  Involuntarily  she 
cast  a  terrified  glance  at  the  door  ;  nobody  could  en- 
ter without  the  key,  and  Anna,  who  had  it  in  her  pos- 
session, would  be  the  last  to  give  it  up  to  Portia's 
legal  lord.  Angered  against  herself,  she  opened  the 
envelope — John  wrote  what  is  known  as  a  commer- 
cial hand — decipherable  even  when  he  had  vvritten, 
as  now,  under  the  stress  of  violent  emotion,  and  his 
words  were  clear  to  his  wife's  comprehension  at  once. 

' '  I  could  not  write  before, "  the  letter  began.  ' '  You 
have  put  me  into  the  state  of  mind  when  a  man  puts 
a  bullet  into  his  head  like  nothing  at  all.  Why  have 
you  acted  so  }  What  satisfaction  can  it  give  you  to 
torture  me  .?  If  you  had  told  me  what  was  up  I  could 
have  explained  everything.  I  have  never  loved  any 
woman  but  you,  and  I  never  shall,  to  my  dying  day. 
Men  are  not  like  women  in  those  ways.  You  think 
I  was  fond  of  that  girl  who  came  and  parted  us  just 
as  we'd  been  made  man  and  wife  !  I  never  cared  a 


202  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

straw  for  her.  If  you  hadn't  been  twelve  thousand 
miles  away,  and  if  you  hadn't  sent  mc  one  or  two 
letters  that  seemed  to  send  a  kind  of  a  chill  to  my 
heart,  it  would  never  have  happened.  I  wasn't  so 
much  to  blame  in  the  matter  as  you  might  think. 
You  would  say  so,  too,  if  you  knew  a  little  more 
about  men  and  the  world.  But  you  were  always 
the  veriest  sucking-dove  in  those  ways,  and  that's 
another  reason  why  I  was  so  fond  of  you.  I  treated 
the  girl  as  handsomely  as  I  could.  I've  been  send- 
ing her  supplies  to  America — as  much  as  she  could 
want — ever  since  she  left.  It  was  her  own  fault  if 
she  ran  away  and  let  someone  else  collar  the  money. 
She  could  have  lived  where  she  pleased,  and  made  a 
good  marriage;  and  as  for  the  brat,  though  Tm  in  no 
way  bound  to  believe  what  she  tells  me,  she  would 
have  had  no  cause  to  complain.  She  only  had  to 
speak.  What  can  a  man  do  more.?  You  wouldn't 
have  had  me  marry  her,  would  you.?  There's  only 
one  woman  in  the  world,  as  you  well  know,  I  could 
ever  marry — and  I  have  married  her.  In  the  eyes 
of  God  and  man  she's  my  wedded  wife.  Portia  ! 
don't  break  my  heart  altogether.  If  you  M-ant  to 
kill  me,  take  a  different  way  of  doing  it.  While  you're 
hiding  away  I  am  eating  my  heart  out  about  vou. 
You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  feel  wild  about  anyone 
as  I  do  about  you,  or  you  would  have  a  little  pity  for 
me.     If  you  will  let  us  know  where  you  are,  I  swear 


THE  PENANCE  OE  FOR  TIA  JAMES.  203 

that  I  will  explain  everything  to  your  satisfaction. 
The  girl  herself  wants  you  to  come  back.  Emma 
says  you  had  no  money  when  you  ran  away,  and 
she  can't  for  the  life  of  her  think  of  any  friends  you 
would  have  cared  to  go  to  in  England.  Write,  and 
make  your  own  conditions.  You  don't  suppose  I 
shall  rest  night  or  day  till  I've  found  you,  so  you  had 
better  make  your  terms  while  you've  got  the  right 
end  of  the  stick.  Don't  be  afraid  to  trust  me  because 
of  anything  that's  happened  lately. 

"  What  I  suffered  when  I  found  you  had  run 
away  from  me  is  a  lesson  that  will  about  last  me  for 
the  rest  of  my  days.  I  ought  to  have  told  you  every- 
thing, but  I  was  afraid.  I  thought  I'd  wait  until  we 
were  married  and  you  had  got  to  know  me  a  little 
better,  though  it  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  tell  you 
wheni  put  the  opal  ring— that  confounded  ring  that's 
done  all  the  mischief — on  your  linger.  Don't  keep 
your  hiding-place  a  secret  any  longer.  It's  too  rough 
on  us  all.  Wilmer  wants  to  see  us  come  together  again, 
too.  You  shall  have  your  own  way  in  everything. 
I  care  for  you  so  much  that  you  will  always  have 
the  whip-hand  of  me.  Emma  says  you've  upset  all 
their  plans  for  the  autumn.  They  can't  go  away  till 
they  know  where  you  are.  If  you  would  come  back 
we  could  all  make  a  trip  together.  Perhaps  you 
would  prefer  that  to  our  Norway  journey  that  you 
have   knocked   on    the   head.     Wherever   you    may 


204  'rH^  PHIVAA^CE   OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

be  when  this  reaches  you,  my  darling--for  you  are  my 
dading',  whatever  happens,  and  the  thought  of  you 
seems  to  choke  me  now  as  I  write — let  your  heart 
move  you  to  a  little  compassion  for  me.  I  am  so 
abjectly  miserable  without  you — I  was  never  a  great 
hand  at  letter-writing,  but  I  could  fill  pages  telling 
you  of  the  different  visions  I  have  had  of  you  lately. 
When  I  sit  in  that  greenhouse  of  Wilmer's,  with  my 
eyes  shut,  and  smell  the  peppermints  and  blue- 
gums,  I  declare  I  can  see  you  just  as  you  were  at 
Yarraman  in  the  old  days — a  dear  little  harum-scar- 
um girl,  with  your  hair  flying  over  your  shoulders, 
tearing  down  the  paddock  with  the  kangaroo  dogs  at 
your  heels.  Who  would  ever  have  thought  you  were 
going  to  turn  into  such  a  queen  of  beauty  and  fash- 
ion then  !  I've  been  weak  and  I've  been  a  fool.  I 
won't  deny  it  ;  but  if  you  could  see  into  my  heart 
you  would  believe  me  when  I  say  that  even  when  I 
was  most  of  a  fool  my  heart  was  fullest  of  you — 
fuller  than  it  could  hold.  Now,  there  is  God's  truth 
for  you,  Portia  ;  and  with  the  prayer  that  you  will 
think  I  have  been  punished  enough,  I  sign  myself 
your  husband,  who  loves    you   better    than   his  life, 

"John  Morrisson.  " 

Portia  sat  with  this  letter   in  her  hand,  gazing  ab- 
stractedly before  her,  until  Anna    came    back,   with 
her  basket  full  and  housewifely  triumph  in  her  tones. 
"I've  been   to   the  r^Z/sseni?,  and  you  shall   have 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  205 

poulet  and  salad  for  your  lunch  ;  what  do  you  think 
of  that  ?  I  met  Mr.  Eames  and  the  Swedish  girl  on 
their  way  to  the  atelier.  They  are  raving  about  the 
new  model — an  Italian  girl.  By  the  bye,  Portia, 
what  an  ideal  picture  of  Truth  one  might  make  oiyou, 
with  your  hair  down  !  A  pity  you're  so  prejudiced 
still.  I  must  show  you  Lefebvre's  picture  at  the 
Luxembourg.  It  makes  me  think  of  what  Merimee 
said  about  artists'  models,  and  why  a  femme  du 
monde — a  beautiful  one — might  be  treated  so  much 
more  satisfactorily.  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Have 
you  had  bad  news  }  " 

"  Bad  news.-*  No."  It  is  doubtful  whether  Porti^i 
had  heard  aught  of  Anna's  words  save  the  concluding 
ones.  "Only  I  feel  rather  as  if  we  were  playing  at 
cross-questions  and  crooked  answers  with  our  cor- 
respondence. I've  had  a  letter  from  John,  and — and 
he  thinks  I'm  jealous.  " 

"And  you're  not  .? "  Anna  put  this  question 
sharply,  with  her  straight,  black  brows  drawn  to- 
gether over  her  snake-like  eyes.    ' '  Perhaps  you  are .''  " 

"No,  indeed  I'm  not,"  Portia  answered  slowly. 
"I've  been  trying  to  analyse  my  feelings  ever  since 
I've  been  here,  and  I  think  it's  because  I  don't  care 
properly  for  John  that  the  feeling  of  jealousy  had 
nothing  to  do  with  my  running  away.  I  know 
pretty  well  what  made  me  do  it.  You  see,  I  only 
married  him  because  I    thought   he  had   a   kind   of 


2o6  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

sacred  claim  on  me.  I  believed  he  had  been  living 
upon  my  promise  for  years  past.  When  I  found  that 
in  reality  he  had  been  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,  my 
own  obligation  was  gone.  Don't  you  see  .?  There 
was  no  longer  any  necessity  for  me  to  sacrifice  my- 
self. Then  Mary  had  prior  claims.  Hers  were  the 
real  ones  ;  mine  were  only  artificial  and  conventional 
ones.  But  John  would  have  put  them  first,  and  at 
home  they  would  have  done  the  same  ;  just  because 
we  had  had  the  marriage  service  said  over  us.  I  was 
afraid  of  that  ;  I  could  think  of  nothing  better  than 
to  run  away  ;  but  now,  I  suppose,  it  is  nearly  time 
to  come  to  an   arrangement  of  some  kind — to  write 

and  say " 

"Not  to  write  and  say  where  you  are  !  "  interrupted 
Anna.  "Whatever  you  think  of  doing,  don't  do  that ! 
Let  all  the  pourparlers  be  carried  on  by  correspon- 
dence. You  have  everything  in  your  favour  as  long 
as  they  don't  know  whereto  find  you.  You  can  dic- 
tate your  own  terms.  I  had  hoped,"  she  went  to  the 
table  and  began  to  unpack  her  basket,  continuing  to 
talk  all  the  time  she  was  placing  her  purchases  upon 
plates  or  in  jars — "I  had  hoped  you  would  find 
interests  here.  I  know  it  is  dull  work  sitting  to  me 
in  the  mornings  ;  but  that  was  only  for  practice.  If 
you  knew  what  appreciation  you  would  have,  and 
what  money  you  might  earn  !  Of  course,  you  could 
get  as  much  money  as  you  liked  if  you  went  back — 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  207 

I  know  that.  But  that  is  not  like  earning  it  yourself; 
and  would  it  not  be  tantamount  to  selling  yourself? 
After  all,  I  believe  you  are  hankering-  after  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt,  if  the  truth  were  known  !  " 

"What,  the  home  fleshpots !  Oh,  no!"  said 
Portia,  smiling.  "But,"  she  leaned  her  head  upon 
the  window-sill  with  a  gesture  of  discouragement, 
"I  feel  now  as  I  did  when  I  was  living  what  you 
called  the  summer  insect  life.  What  is  it  to  lead 
to .? " 

"What  does  anything  lead  to .? '"  said  Anna,  gloom- 
ily. "A  little  less,  or  a  little  more;  vi^hat  does  it 
matter  ?  Who  was  that  Frenchman  who  said  of  the 
universe  that  it  was  the  work  of  the  Devil  gone  mad  ? 
If  you  reason  about  things,  you  may  come  to  that 
conclusion  as  well  as  any  other.  What  you  have  to 
think  about  is,  what  each  day  brings.  I  believe  your 
days  here  would  bring  you  a  sense  of  independence 
and  power  you  have  never  known  before — if  you 
will  make  a  little  longer  trial  of  them.  You  would 
find  a  zest  in  life,  when  you  realised  that  you  could 
do  exactly  as  you  liked  with  it,  that  you  have  no  idea 
of  now.  You  are  still  under  the  influence  ot  a  multi- 
tude of  conventional  ideas  and  prejudices.  Wait 
until  you  have  shaken  yourself  a  little  more  free  of 
them  before  you  ask  what  your  life  here  will  lead 
to." 

"You  have  shaken  yourself  free  of  them,  I  sup- 


2o8  THE  rR NANCE  OE  EORTTA  JAMES. 

pose,  Anna  ? "  The  question  seemed  to  rise  unbidden 
to  Portia's  lips,  "Arc  you  quite  content  and  happy 
in  your  life  ?  " 

"Content  and  happy  ?  Who  is  ?  who  stops  to  con- 
sider whether  he  is  or  not  ?  '  Oui  !  de  leur  sort  tons 
les  hommes  sont  las  !  '  It  was  Hugo  who  said  that. 
But  I  would  as  soon  go  to  prison  as  go  back  to  my 
old  life — rather,  in  fact,  for  there  would  be  less  pre- 
tence about  it.  However,  try  and  hold  out  a  little 
longer.  We're  to  see  about  your  pose  this  afternoon, 
and  we  can  go  to  the  Luxembourg  afterwards  ;  then 
Clootz's  ;  and  we'll  wind  up  with  the  Gaiete  Mont- 
parnassc,  if  it's  a  cool  evening." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

If  Portia  had  been  told  to  mount  her  horse  any- 
where in  the  wilds  of  Australia,  and  to  ride  in  a  bee- 
line  from  one  given  point  to  another,  with  nothing 
but  her  own  bird-like  instinct  of  locality  to  guide  her, 
she  would  have  obeyed  without  the  smallest  hesita- 
tion. But  when  Anna  desired  her  to  explore  unaided 
the  old  and  new  streets  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  she 
avowed  that  she  was  afraid  of  the  undertaking.  The 
dangers  that  might  befal  her  in  the  Bush,  where  to 
lose  her  way,  to  be  thrown  from  her  horse,  or,  worst 
of  all,  to  be  "stuck  up"  by  a  ''sun-owner,"  were 
contingencies  that  pointed  to  the  most  tragic  endings, 
seemed  as  nothing  compared  with  the  formidableness 
of  finding  herself  in  such  unknown  labyrinths  as  the 
precincts  of  the  Sorbonne  or  the  Odeon,  with  the 
consciousness  that  she  was  being  observed  and 
tracked  by  some  casual  admirer.  Upon  the  first 
occasion  that  she  had  become  aw^are  that  she  was 
followed  she  had  never  doubted  that  the  person  so 
following   her   was    a   private    French   detective   in 

John's  employ  ;  and  when    she   heard   the   formula, 
14 


2IO  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  AMES. 

"  Permettez-vous  que  je  vous  accompagne,  made- 
moiselle ? "  she  had  hurried  on  with  an  expression 
of  such  genuine  terror  in  her  face  that  her  chance 
adorer  had  been  discouraged,  and  had  fallen  behind. 
"  That's  only  their  way  of  showing  their  appre- 
ciation ;  you  needn't  take  any  notice  of  it,"'  Anna  had 
said,  laughing,  when  Portia  tremulously  recounted 
her  adventure.  But  the  sense  of  being  noticed  and 
pursued  in  any  fashion,  under  present  circumstances, 
was  such  a  terrifying  one  that  she  preferred  to  sit 
and  think,  or  to  sit  and  bt'ood,  as  Anna  called  it, 
alone,  when  the  latter  was  away,  to  venturing  out 
by  herself.  Nothing  could  have  marked  more  plainly 
the  difference  between  the  Portia  of  a  few  weeks  back 
and  the  Portia  of  to-day — the  Portia  who  had  set  out 
so  gaily  in  the  ruddily-gathering  fog  by  herself  to 
visit  the  Academy,  and  the  Portia  who  shrank  now 
from  going  unaccompanied  round  the  corner. 

"It's  to  do  the  Lorelei  you'll  be  wanted,"  Anna 
explained  to  her  the  same  afternoon  as  they  were 
walking  together  along  the  unfreciucnted  end  of  the 
Rue  d'Assas,  bordering  the  Luxembourg  Gardens — 
"  '  and  she  combed  her  golden  hair,'  you  remember, 
don't  you  .''  Delstanche  "  (she  named  a  painter  since 
celebrated)  "  thinks  you  must  have  come  into  the 
world  for  the  express  purpose." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  care  so  much  to  have  me 
pose,"  observed  Portia,  reflectively  ;  "  you  make  such 


THE  PENANCE  OE  PORT/ A  JAMES.  2  1 1 

a  point  of  it,  Anna  !  And  it  never  seems  to  me  that 
it  is  really  earning-  money  to  make  it  in  that  way.  I 
might  be  an  idiot — I  should  earn  it  all  the  same.  It 
is  not  as  though  I  had  to  work  for  what  I  get,  or  as 
thoueh  it  cost  me  any  trouble.  I  feel  ashamed  to  be 
paid  for  just  sitting  still.  There  is  nothing  to  do. 
I  only  have  to  be " 

"  You  little  goose  !  " — Anna's  tones  were  incisive 
and  disdainful—"  that  is  just  the  glory  of  it.  It  is 
not  for  anything  grafted  on  to  you  ;  it  is  for  being 
you  yourself  that  you  are  paid.  Did  you  never  read 
what  Renan  says  about  a  beautiful  woman  being  the 
highest  expression  of  the  Creator's  power  .?  That  is 
the  way  you  should  look  at  it.  As  for  not  earning 
what  you  get  like  any  one  else,  that  is  all  nonsense. 
One  person  has  a  fine  voice,  and  makes  money  by  it. 
Another  has  brains,  and  he  makes  money  by  Ihem. 
You  have  what  is  better  than  either." 

"  I  can't  think  that,"  said  Portia,  sceptically  ; 
"that  is  only  your  way  of  looking  at  it,  Anna.  Be- 
sides, one  has  to  work  hard  to  cultivate  a  voice  and 
brains  ;  but  to  pose,  one  has  nothing  to  cultivate — 
that  is  just  what  I  complain  of." 

"  One  has  to  cultivate  the  art  of  keeping  still — 
which  you  have  not  quite  acquired  yet,  my  dear,  let 
me  tell  you.  I  can  see  you  are  dead-beat  some- 
times ,  .  ,  But  you  want  to  know  why  I  make  such 
a  point  of  having  you  pose.      I'm  afraid  it's  just  for 


212  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

the  gratification  of  producing  you.  A  model  like 
you  is  as  rare  in  her  way  as  a  Patti  or  a  Sarah  Bern- 
hardt in  hers.  Then  you  happen  to  be  going  through 
an  experience  that  intensifies  all  your  natural  advan- 
tages. You  needn't  laugh  ;  what  I  am  telhng  you  is 
perfectly  true.  Any  one  can  see  you  are  not  thinking 
of  yourself  when  you  pose.  I  don't  know  what  you 
are  thinking  of,  but  you  have  a  kind  of  abstracted 
look  in  your  eyes,  and  that  coupled  with  their 
curious  colour,  makes  them  just  like  an  Undine's  or 
a  Lorelei's.  And  then  your  wonderful  hair  !  Your 
hair  and  your  skin  are  exactly  the  kind  that  artists 
rave  about,  and  so  seldom  find." 

Portia  made  no  reply  to  this  tirade.  Perhaps  her 
thoughts  had  already  been  wandering  in  other  direc- 
tions. She  had  not  forgotten  to  deliver  Anna  the 
message  her  gentleman-help  had  confided  to  her  the 
day  of  her  arrival,  and  there  had  been  hardly  an  even- 
ing since  upon  which  Mr.  Eames,  as  he  was  called, 
had  not  knocked  at  their  door  upon  their  return  from 
Clootz's.  Sometimes  he  stayed  an  hour,  sometimes 
longer.  He  would  begin  the  conversation  by  talking 
artistic  "shop  "  to  Anna,  and  Portia  would  marvel  at 
the  animation  they  showed  in  discussing  "  plein  air  " 
and  "impressionist  toiles. "  But  after  a  while  Rousky 
and  his  Polish  friend,  or  some  newer  interest  of 
Anna's,  would  monopolise  her  attention.  She  and 
her  fellow-smokers  would  form  a  little  group  apart, 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  2  13 

and  Portia  would  be  left  to  talk  to  Mr.  Eames  alone. 
She  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  was  interested  in 
her,  and  that  he  showed  his  interest  by  tryin"-,  not 
obtrusively,  but  naively,  to  find  out  who  and  what 
she  was.  She  had  decided  with  Anna  that  she  should 
be  called  by  her  mother's  name  of  Drew,  and  no  one 
among  her  new  entourage  suspected  that  she  was 
other  than  Miss  Drew,  or  that  she  had  been  at  any 
time  of  her  life  though  the  marriage  ceremony.  She 
could  not  talk  about  pictures  to  Mr.  Eames  ;  but  they 
had  other  points  in  common.  He  was  fond  of  music 
and  played  with  expression,  though  with  little  science 
or  execution.  Portia  also  loved  music,  and  allowed 
herself  to  be  persuaded  to  sing  her  simple  ballads  of 
"Ben  Bolt"  and  "  Robin  Adair"  to  please  him.  He 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  she  knew  infinitely 
more  than  was  the  case,  and  often  when  he  was 
speaking  to  her  she  was  obliged  to  interrupt  him  by 
asking  for  information  upon  some  point  that  was 
evidently  only  the  A  B  C  of  his  theme.  But  she  had 
explained  to  him  that  she  came  from  Australia,  and, 
far  from  making  her  feel  ' '  small, "  when  she  confessed 
her  ignorance  he  appeared  to  take  a  delight  in  plac- 
ing her  on  the  same  level  as  himself,  and  implying 
that  she  could  teach  him  perhaps  even  more  than  he 
could  teach  her.  Her  gentleman-help  was  the  only 
artist,  excepting  Harry  Tolhurst,  whom  Portia  had 
met,  and  she  was  willing  now  to  like  the  whole  tribe. 


214  ^-^^  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"  Does  Mr.  Eames  paint  good  pictures  ?  "  she  asked 
of  Anna,  after  along  pause,  with  apparent  inconse- 
quence in  the  question,  tliough  in  reality  it  was  the 
result  of  a  long  train  of  thought. 

Anna  replied  with  a  shrug  ;  the  gesture  was  so 
natural  and  appropriate  that  one  would  never  have 
supposed  that  she  was  not  to  the  manner  born. 
"  He  makes  wonderful  beginnings,"  she  said  ;  "  per- 
haps he  will  make  good  ends,  too,  some  days. 
But  here  we  are  at  Delstanche's.  Mind,  now,  you 
pull  out  that  silver  arrow  from  your  hair  when  I  tell 
you." 

While  Portia  Morrisson,  a/ias  James,  a/ias  Drew,  is 
engaged  in  putting  on  the  attributes  of  the  soul-and- 
body-alluring  Lorelei,  her  friend  Mr.  Eames  has  been 
busily  engaged  in  making  a  sketch  from  memory  of 
her  in  his  studio.  He  is  so  much  engrossed  in  it, 
and  there  is  such  a  fascination  in  evoking  the  image 
of  her  charming  figure  standing  near  the  piano,  that 
it  is  only  when  a  man's  step  mounting  the  staircase 
stops  before  his  door,  and  a  voice  he  recognises  calls 
from  the  landing  outside,  "  T^et  me  in,  old  fellow," 
that  he  desists  from  his  work.  But  before  going  to 
the  door  he  has  thrust  his  sketch,  with  a  heap  of 
others,  into  a  portfolio.  Miss  Drew's  image  on  paper 
must  not  be  revealed  to  indifferent  eyes,  any  more 
than  the  image  of  her  he  is  beginning  to  carry  about 
in  his  mind.      "Heart"  would  be,  perhaps,  the  more 


THE  PENANCE  OE  POKTfA  JAMES.  215 

fitting  word  to  use  in  this  connection,  though  Mr. 
Eames,  perhaps,  was  not  aware  of  it  himself  in  his 
present  phase. 

"And  you  never  sent  me  word  you  were  coming," 
he  said  reproachfully,  a  moment  later,  and  after  a 
grip  of  the  hands  had  been  exchanged  between  him- 
self and  the  new-comer. 

"I  didn't  knovv  it  myself  till  last  night,  to  tell  the 
truth,"  replied  Harry  Tolhurst — for  the  young  man 
in  the  ulster,  with  the  canvas-covered  paint-box  in 
his  hand,  to  whom  Mr.  Eames  had  just  opened  the 
door,  was  none  other  than  Harry.  "  I  knew  I  should 
find  you  in  the  old  place.  And  how  are  you  getting 
on,  old  fellow  1  You  got  your  '  Saint  Bavon  '  into 
the  Salon  all  right }  " 

"N — no,  I  didn't;"  the  admission  was  made  re- 
luctantly.     "I  wasn't  satisfied  with  it  in  the  end." 

"And  you  made  such  a  splendid  ehauche.  You 
want  someone  to  wrench  your  work  away  from  you 
when  you've  brought  it  up  to  a  certain  point,  I  fancy. 
What  are  you  at  work  on  now  .?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  half  a  dozen  things  in  hand.  I'll  show 
them  to  you  by-and-by.  Tell  me  first  though — I'm 
aw^fully  glad  to  see  you — but  why  didn't  you  give  me 
warning.''  You're  not  looking  up  to  the  mark,  by 
any  means.     You  haven't  had  the  influenza " 

"Influenza.'  No.  I've  been  rather  knocked  out 
of  time  by  a  trouble  I've  been  mixed  up  with  lately, 


2i6  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

that's  all.  I  thought  I'd  propose  a  walking  tour  in 
Brittany,  if  you  haven't  made  any  plans  of  your 
own." 

"Brittany  be  bothered!  I  haven't  any  money. 
Let's  go  to  Barbizon." 

"That  wouldn't  be  any  cheaper.  Besides,  it's  no 
use  to  potter  about  the  forest.  I  want  to  go  in  for 
active  exercise  of  some  kind.      I  think  I  need  it." 

"You  look  as  though  you  did,  old  man!  'Pon 
my  word,  I  believe  you  must  have  had  the  influenza, 
after  all — or  you've  been  overdoing  it  somehow." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  working  too  hard,"  admitted 
Harry  ;  but  the  admission  was  obviously  made  for 
the  purpose  of  putting  an  end  to  the  cross-examina- 
tion to  which  his  friend  seemed  inclined  to  subject 
him.  "And  hovi^  are  all  the  Paris  lot  "i  Is  Miss  Ross 
always  to  the  fore  }  " 

"Rousky's  to  the  fore,"  responded  Mr.  Eames, 
shortly.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  continued : 
"There's  a  girl,  a  young  lady,  staying  with  Anna 
Ross  just  now." 

"Ah  !  "  said  Harry,  indifferently. 

"Yes.  You'll  see  her  to-night,  I  expect,  at 
Clootz's.  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  think  of 
her. " 

"Ah  !  "  said  Harry  again.      "  Pour  cause?" 

"Pour  cause — if  her  presence  accounts  for  the  fact 
that  I  am  irresistibly  drawn  to  Anna's  studio  every 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PONTEl  JAMES.  217 

evening.  But  I'm  afraid  she's  woi  ^  per inanenl  \  she's 
only  some  beautiful  bird  of  passage.  With  us,  and 
not  of  us." 

"  It's  as  serious  as  that !  "  said  his  friend  smiling. 
Harry's  smiles  were,  as  we  have  seen,  extremely 
rare  ;  and  it  would  seem  that  they  had  become  more 
fleeting  as  well,  for  his  face  relapsed  almost  im- 
mediately into  its  accustomed  morne  expression. 

His  companion,  meanwhile,  was  already  half 
regretting  the  confidences  he  had  made.  To  tell  the 
truth,  it  was  only  the  longing  to  find  a  pretext  for 
speaking  about  Portia  that  had  prompted  him  to 
make  them  at  all,  though  perhaps  he  was  not  loth  to 
let  his  friend  know  at  the  same  time  that  the  priority 
of  right  of  paying  particular  court  to  the  charming 
bird  of  passage  overhead  was,  in  a  measure,  be- 
spoken. A  growing  interest  of  a  tender  description 
will  manifest  itself  sometimes  in  an  irresistible  desire 
to  speak  of  the  adored  object  in  season  and  out  of 
season  ;  and  until  Harry  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
there  was  no  one  to  whom  Portia's  gentleman-help 
could  unburden  himself  in  any  degree  respecting  the 
nature  of  the  sentiment  she  had  awakened  in  him. 
He  did  not  go  so  far,  however,  as  to  display  his 
memory-sketch  of  her  to  Harry.  There  were  a 
hundred  congenial  topics  for  the  newly-restored 
friends  to  talk  about  without  entering  into  their 
affaires  de  cceur,  as  women  would  have  done  in  their 


2i8  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

place — their  own  works  and  that  of  their  fellow- 
artists  being-  naturally  the  most  cong-enial  topic  of 
all.  Harry  had  to  be  posted  up  in  all  the  latest 
gossip  of  the  atelier,  to  be  informed  as  to  which  of 
the  band  was  arrive,  who  among  them  had  "  exposed  " 
at  the  Salon,  who  had  been  lucky  enough  to  have  his 
ioile  purchased  by  the  French  Government,  and  a  great 
deal  more  to  the  same  effect.  Occasionally,  however, 
he  would  relapse  into  the  kind  of  reverie  known  as 
a  "brown  study"  (though  why  a  study  should  be 
brown,  while  the  devils  of  despondency  are  blue,  is 
a  fact  that  no  one  has  ever  satisfactorily  explained), 
and  would  apparently  gaze  right  through  the  "St. 
Bavon  "  that  he  had  been  criticising  in  his  friend's 
behoof,  or  beyond  it,  to  some  intangible  picture  of 
his  own  evoking.  At  these  moments  a  puzzled  look 
would  flit  across  Mr.  Eames's  pleasant  blue  eyes,  and 
turning  around  to  place  his  picture  against  the  wall, 
he  would  hum  softly — 

"  Elle  avait  des  manieres  tres  bien, 
"  Elle  etait  coiftee  3,  la  chien, 
"Elle  chantait  commc  une  petite  folic, 
A  Batignolles.' 

"Let's  take  a  turn  in  the  Luxembourg  before  din- 
ner," he  said  at  last.  "  It  seems  to  me  you  want 
rousing  up,  old  man  ! 

"All  right,"  assented  Harry  coming-  back  to  him- 
self with  an  effort  from  the  visionary  reg-ions  he  had 


7 HE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  219 

been  wandcrinti;  in.  "But  haven't  you  to  get  ready 
first  ?  " 

"  Ready  !  That  won't  take  me  long.  I'm  ready 
now." 

He  had  been,  in  point  of  fact,  peeHng  off  his 
plum-coloured  jersey  and  dragging  it  over  his  head 
as  he  spoke,  and  now  substituted  in  its  place  a 
morning  coat  and  artistically-knotted  Lavalliere 
tie. 

A  Tam-o'-Shanter  completed  his  costume  ;  and 
thus  attired,  with  his  pipe  and  tobacco-pouch  thrust 
into  his  pocket,  he  followed  his  friend  out  of  the 
studio. 

It  was  an  afternoon  upon  which  the  band  of  the 
Garde  Republicaine  had  been  announced  to  play  in 
the  Luxembourg  Gardens,  and,  though  the  perform- 
ance was  drawing  to  a  close,  the  crowd  was  still 
great.  In  the  close  neighbourhood  of  the  music  all 
the  chairs  were  taken,  but  a  throng  of  promenaders 
was  circling  round  them,  amid  which  the  grisettes 
of  the  Quartier  Latin  mustered  in  full  force.  Harry 
paused  a  moment  before  joining  in  the  round  to  take 
in  the  details  of  the  scene.  It  had  been  familiar 
enough  to  him  during  his  last  long  residence  in  Paris, 
but  it  came  upon  him  now  with  an  air  of  novelty. 
Looked  at  from  a  surface  point  of  view,  it  was  a  gay 
and  enlivening  spectacle  enough.  What  prettier 
setting  for  holiday-makers   assembled   in  the    open 


220  THE  PENAXCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

air  would  it  be  possible  to  find  than  this  ex(iuisite 
comming-ling  of  nature  and  art — this  glorious  pro- 
fusion of  trees  and  lawns,  and  terraces  and  parterres, 
and  fountains  and  statues,  blended  into  a  stately  and 
harmonious  mise  en  scene/'  There,  as  he  remembered 
it,  was  the  grotto  of  the  monster  Polyphemus,  with 
the  water  still  musically  coursing  over  the  white 
body  of  the  beautiful  nymph  Galatea.  Away  in  front 
of  him  were  the  rigid  statues  of  the  Queens  of 
France,  ranged  in  stony  propriety  against  their  back- 
ground of  leafy  green.  To  his  right,  the  descending 
steps  of  the  terrace  leading  to  a  vast  parterre  of 
flowers,  worthy  of  framing  the  "stately  pleasure 
dome"  of  Kubla  Khan,  in  the  midst  of  which  a 
mighty  jet  of  water  rose  and  fell,  lazily  and  without 
effort,  as  though  it  were  dancing  up  and  down  for 
its  own  pleasure  alone.  Among  the  crowds  of 
listeners  the  streaming  ribands  of  the  nourrices  and 
their  gold-pinned  capes  made  a  pretty  variety,  while 
around  the  feet  of  the  fat  French  7namans  and  bo?ines 
the  little  chert's  and  btbiches  in  limited  number  (for 
olive-branches  in  France  are  a  luxury  not  to  be  too 
recklessly  indulged  in)  turned  up  the  dusty  soil  with 
their  miniature  wooden  spades. 

The  band  was  playing  the  Marche  Indienne  as  Harry 
and  his  companion  drew  near,  and  the  wild  joyous- 
ness  of  the  strain  seemed  to  harmonise  well  with  the 
scene    around   them.       Harry  centred  his  attention 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  /AMES.  221 

upon  the  students  and  the  grisettes,  as  being  the  new- 
est element  that  the  show  could  furnish  him  after  his 
long  severance  from  Quartier  Latin  ways.  He  saw 
that  the  students  walked  by  themselves,  and  the  gri- 
settes by  themselves,  either  in  arm-in-arm  couples  or 
in  affectionate  clusters  of  threes  and  fours,  and  when- 
ever one  group  or  couple  passed  or  met  another  group, 
a  word,  or  a  nod,  or  a  passing  "  He,  mon  petit !  "  or 
"Tiens,  ma  belle  !  "testified  to  the  friendly  relations 
existing  between  them.  Some  of  the  grisettes — mo- 
distes, perhaps,  in  their  own  right — wore  wildflower- 
wreathed  hats  that  recalled  a  vision  of  Portia  on  the 
Academy  morning  to  Harry's  mind.  Others,  ap- 
parently of  the  blancJiisseuse  order,  who  possessed 
nothing,  in  all  probability,  but  their  bodies  in  their 
own  right,  wore  no  hats  at  all.  These,  however,  were 
always  daintily  coiffe,  and  all  bore  alike  a  certain  air 
of  trim  neatness  and  artistic  nattiness.  Few  pos- 
sessed pretty  faces,  and  among  those  who  had  lost 
their  first  freshness  more  than  one  had  hard  eyes  and 
an  animal  mouth.  It  was  in  vain  that  Harry  sought 
to  discover  a  Mimi  Pinson  among  them.  He  turned 
away  from  the  spectacle  with  a  grave  face,  while  his 
friend  laughed,  and  observed  : 

"A  page  out  of  the  Vie  de  BoJihne.  You  should  go 
to  the  Bal  BuUier  to  see  the  suite. " 

' '  I  don't  care  to  see  it, "  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  ' '  when 
I  think  it's  been  going  on  since  Murger's  time — and 


A2  22  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

how  long  before  ? — ^and  that  it  will  be  going  on  when 
all  these  people  are  dead  and  gone.  I  feel  like  that 
Duke — I  forget  his  name — I  should  like  to  build  my- 
self a  place  underground,  and  never  come  out  of  my 
hole  again." 

The  bitterness  with  which  Harry  said  these  words 
struck  painfully  upon  his  friend's  ear.  "There's 
something  more  than  iniluenza  in  this,"  he  said  to 
himself  sagely.  "  Whatever  the  trouble  that  he's  been 
mixed  up  with  may  be,  it's  evident  he's  been  pretty 
hard  hit;  it's  gone  deep." 

"  Come  on,  old  fellow  !  "  he  added  aloud.  "  Don't 
do  the  King  Solomon  business  over  again.  It's  very 
pleasant  while  it  lasts,  and  where's  the  use  of  looking 
'before  and  after  ' .''  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  your 
yarn.  I'm  as  open  with  you  myself  as  a  child.  Come 
on  to  the  bench  over  there,  and  let's  have  a  smoke." 

Now,  as  Fate  or  Chance  would  have  it — for  Fate 
and  Chance  mean  much  the  same  thing — at  the  very 
moment  when  the  two  young  men  were  about  to  take 
their  seats  upon  the  empty  bench  on  the  other  side 
of  the  broad  avenue,  beneath  one  of  the  properest  of 
the  stone  queens  arrayed  in  her  chiselled  vcrtugadin, 
Portia  was  crossing  the  same  spot  from  the  opposite 
end  of  the  garden.  Her  visit  to  the  painter,  Del- 
stanche,  had  not  been  altogether  as  satisfactory  to 
herself  as  to  Anna.  She  had  been  made  to  take  her 
hair  down,  and  to  show   her  neck  and  arms  in  all 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  223 

their  summer  whiteness  ;  and  though  she  had  done  as 
much  times  out  of  mind  during  the  past  week  while 
she  had  been  posing-  for  Anna,  to  do  so  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion  had  seemed  a  formidable  ordeal.  Anna 
had  upbraided  her  for  her  self-consciousness,  and  had 
declared  that  she  had  no  true  feeling  for  art,  other- 
wise she  would  have  been  glad  to  consecrate  her 
beautiful  person  to  the  cause  ;  and  had  left  her,  after 
thus  scolding  her,  to  go  to  Colla  Rossi's  studio,  but 
not  until  she  had  shown  her  friend  how  she  might 
return  through  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  alone. 
Portia  had  sat  for  a  long  time  in  a  secluded  corner  of 
these,  out  of  the  way  of  the  crowd  and  the  band, 
thinking  drearily  of  what  she  should  do,  and  only 
solacing  herself  by  glancing  from  time  to  time  at  the 
evening  sky,  made  up  of  a  mass  of  dark  grey  clouds, 
through  which  the  declining  sun  seemed  to  burn  redly 
in  patches  and  scratches  of  flame.  After  a  time  she 
noticed  that  the  bench  she  was  sitting  on  had  another 
occupant.  A  Frenchman  of  the  meridional  type 
(though,  to  our  heroine,  he  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  Frenchman),  with  swarthy  skin  and  piercing 
black  eyes,  was  eyeing  her  with  undisguised  admira- 
tion. She  looked  away  in  the  vain  effort  to  appear 
unconscious  of  his  glance,  but  the  tell-tale  colour 
mantling  over  cheek  and  neck  betrayed  her.  He 
moved  a  little  nearer,  and  said  abruptly  : 

"Mon  Dieu  !  mademoiselle,  ne  vous  effrayez  pag. 


2  24  ^^^^"  i'i^^ANCE  OF  rOKTIA  JAMES. 

Mai.s  vous  etes  tellement  jolie — on  aurait  de  la  peine 
^  ne  pas  vous  rcgarder,  et " 

Portia  did  not  give  him  time,  however,  to  finish 
all  his  sentence.  At  the  first  words  she  had  jumped 
from  her  seat  with  the  rapid  movement  of  a  frightened 
bird,  and  was  walking  away,  straight  in  front  of  her, 
with  no  definite  idea  but  to  escape.  She  heard  quick 
footsteps  behind  her,  and  the  same  voice  that  had 
already  addressed  her  repeated  reproachfully,  "O, 
la  cruelle  !  " 

Notwithstanding  her  real  alarm  the  solemn  absurd- 
ity of  this  denunciation  was  almost  too  much  for 
Portia's  gravity.  But  she  felt  that  to  lose  her  dignity 
at  this  juncture  would  be  fatal.  She  walked  on, 
therefore,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  with 
her  head  erect;  quite  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  two 
young  men,  new-comers  these,  were  about  to  cross 
her  path  diagonally. 

"  Tlieres  an  illustration  of  the  hawk  and  the  pigeon 
game,"  Mr.  Eames  said.  He  had  taken  in  the  situa- 
tion at  a  glance.  "It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  for  a 
tableau  de  genre.  Why  " — his  voice  changed  sud- 
denly, and  its  tones  become  strangely  eager,  "  if  I 
don't  believe — no,  surely — hcan'/  be — yes,  it  is — it  is 
— it's  she — it's  Mi'ss  Drew!" 

"  Tliat  Miss  Drew  !  "  echoed  Harry.  It  was  all 
that  in  the  profound  astonishment  of  the  discovery 
he  could  find  voice  to  say,  for  at  this  moment  Portia 


THE  J 'E NANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  225 

looked   round,  and  a   shock   of  mutual  recognition 
ensued  between  them. 

The  quality  that  renders  a  man  of  the  world  so 
valuable  in  an  emergency  is,  above  all,  his  presence 
of  mind.  Having  reached  the  point  at  which  nothing 
can  any  longer  take  him  by  surprise,  he  never  com- 
mits the  blunder  of  losing  his  head,  but  keeps  his 
mind  clear  for  action  under  the  most  startling  and 
unforeseen  circumstances.  Harry  Tolhurst  was  not 
perhaps,  strictly  speaking,  a  man  of  the  world  in 
this  sense.  The  surprise  of  suddenly  beholding  the 
woman  who  had  become  such  a  living  memory  to 
him  ;  the  woman  whom  he  beHeved  to  be  lost  to  him 
for  ever — to  be  married  indeed,  and  wandering  over 
Europe  with  her  husband  (for  Mary  had  disappeared 
since  the  morning  when  she  had  rushed  with  her  child, 
like  one  demented,  from  his  studio,  and  there  had 
been  no  one  to  inform  him  of  the  sequel  to  Portia's 
wedding)  ;  the  astonishment  of  encountering  her  here 
in  Paris  under  a  new  name,  a  name  that  belonged  to 
her  neither  as  maid  nor  as  Avife  ;  of  finding  her  trans- 
formed into  a  denizen  of  the  Quartier  Latin,  and  a 
guest  of  the  emancipated  Anna  ;  roving  about  the 
Luxembourg  by  herself,  and  fleeing  before  unwel- 
come attentions — the  shock  of  it  was  so  great  that  he 
was  unable  at  first  to  command  his  countenance. 
Portia  had  "  gone  white,"  as  the  common  people  say, 
on  beholding  him,  and  to  a  casual  observer  it  might 

15 


226  THE  ri: NANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

have  seemed  that  these  two  young  people,  meetingf 
by  accident  upon  a  lovely  summer's  evening  in  the 
brightest  place  in  creation,  must  have  taken  each 
other  for  ghosts,  so  unduly  startled  did  they  appear. 
To  anyone  who  had  witnessed  the  exquisite  render- 
ing of  y?o?7?<?r?  r7«r^y«//(?/ at  the  Lyceum  there  would 
have  been  a  something,  however,  underlying  the 
terror  in  Portia's  eyes  that  might  have  dimly  recalled 
the  expression  in  Juliet's  face  when  she  beheld  Romeo 
for  the  first  time.  Though  not  a  man  of  the  world, 
Harry  was  able  to  divine  that  there  was  more  than 
one  cause  for  the  emotion  his  presence  had  aroused. 
That  Portia  wished  him  to  appear  as  though  he  did 
not  recognise  her  was  evident  to  him  from  the  half- 
imploring  glance  that  followed  her  first  uncontrollable 
start  of  surprise.  It  was  well  for  both,  perhaps,  that 
the  gentleman-help  was  so  wholly  engrossed  in  his 
own  share  of  interest  in  the  meeting,  and  that  three 
subjects  filled  his  mind  at  this  moment  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  all  others  :  the  first  being  disappointment  that 
he  could  not  gratify  his  impulse  to  pommel  the  meri- 
dional on  the  spot;  the  second,  the  desire  to  know 
whether  Miss  Drew's  sudden  pallor  was  to  be  entirely 
ascribed  to  the  emotion  consequent  upon  having  been 
accosted,  or  whether  his  own  appearance  as  a  res- 
cuer could  have  had  any  share  in  it ;  and  the  third 
the  regret  that  he  had  come  out  in  his  Tam-o'-Shanter, 
and  was  obliged  to  feel  himself  so  altogether  unfit  an 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  227 

object  to  accompany   the  perfectly  dressed  lady  of 
his  allegiance. 

By  the  time  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  none  of 
these  subjects  could  be  satisfactorily  disposed  of  at 
the  present  moment,  Portia  had  been  enabled  to  re- 
cover a  certain  degree  of  sang-froid,  and  Harry  had 
mastered  himself  sufficiently  to  become  a  party  to 
the  farce  of  being  formally  presented  to  her  by  his 
friend.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  there  would 
have  been  nothing  to  justify  Mr.  Eames  in  doing 
more  than  raising  his  hat  and  passing  on — but  Fate 
seemed  to  have  virilled  that  he  and  Miss  Drev^^  should 
never  meet  save  under  extraordinary  circumstances. 
Had  not  they  broken  the  ice  once  and  for  all  vi^hen 
he  had  done  " porte-faix"  ^.nd  "  water-carrier,"  to  say 
nothing  of  all-round  gentleman-help,  for  her  upon 
the  first  occasion  of  his  meeting  her  as  she  sat  help- 
less upon  the  stairs  outside  his  room  .''  And  was  he 
going  to  abandon  her  now,  when  he  encountered  her 
speeding  like  a  fluttered  bird  before  the  unwelcome 
advances  of  an  insolent  foreigner  !  There  was  every 
warrant,  he  told  himself,  for  stopping  to  speak  to 
her — he  did  not  add  that  even  had  there  been  none 
at  all  he  would  probably  have  done  the  same.  But 
he  addressed  her  in  the  soft,  half-caressing,  half- 
protecting  voice  that  came  to  him  instinctively  when 
he  spoke  to  a  pretty  woman.  He  asked  permission  to 
see  her  safe  through  the  Gardens  ("  safe"  seemed  an 


2  28  THE  PENANCE  OF  EORTIA  JAMES. 

allowable  adjective  in  the  face  of  what  he  had  just 
witnessed),  and  he  excused  himself  for  being-  in  such 
ragamuffin  trim  ;  and  finally  he  bethought  himself  of 
his  friend,  in  whose  direction  Miss  Drew  had  studi- 
ously refrained  from  looking,  and  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  introduce  Mr.  Harry  Tolhursi,  a  distin- 
guished painter  and  Academician  "  en  herbe  "  to  her 
notice. 

Portia  bowed  assent,  and  for  one  brief  instant 
Harry's  eyes  encountered  her  in  full.  Well  may  the 
eyes  be  called  the  windows  of  the  soul  when  so 
much  can  stand  revealed  through  them  in  the  mearest 
flash  of  time.  That  Portia  understood  and  appre- 
ciated his  reticence,  that  she  was  grateful  to  him 
beyond  words  for  having  exercised  it  and  that  she 
trusted — yes,  that  she  /rusted  him  entirely — all  this 
Harry  could  read  in  that  one  transient  glance.  The 
knowledge  that  he  shared  a  secret  with  her,  unknown 
to  anybody  else  in  the  world  (bewildering  as  the  ex- 
istence of  a  secret  of  any  kind  undoubtedly  was,  and 
terrifying  as  the  revelation  of  a  mystery  of  any  kind  in 
connection  with  her  pure  young  life  must  necessarily 
appear),  was  the  greatest  possible  solace  to  him. 
Just  as  he  had  parted  from  her  in  Piccadilly,  after 
that  red-letter,  radiant  white-stone  morning  he  had 
spent  with  her  at  the  Academy,  so  she  appeared  to 
him  now?  The  very  dress  that  clung  in  its  tailor- 
made   folds  round  her   supple,    beautiful  form — the 


THE  PEXANCE  OE  PORT/ A  JAMES.  229 

very  rose-splattered  hat,  under  whose  broad  rim  he 
had  last  looked  into  her  eyes,  were  the  same.  The 
intensity  of  his  recollection  of  her  was  made  clear  to 
him  as  he  measured  the  resemblance  between  it  and 
the  living,  breathing  woman  in  front  of  him.  It 
must  have  been  a  prophetic  intuition  surely  that  had 
made  him  attribute  the  "seediness"  that  his  friend 
had  detected  in  him  to  a  "trouble  he  had  been  mixed 
up  with;"  for  the  trouble  had  been  none  other  than 
Portia  herself,  and  though  the  "  mixing  up"  had  not 
as  yet  occurred,  it  seemed  likely  to  take  place  now. 
But  how  far  would  she  trust  him  .? — -how  far  would 
her  spoken  confidences  ratify  the  assurance  of  her 
belief  in  him  that  he  could  read  in  her  eyes?  It 
could  be  nothing  but  a  providential  interposition 
surely  that  had  sent  him  to  the  very  place  to  which 
she  had  fled  for  refuge,  in  order  that  he  might  be  at 
hand  to  help  and  perhaps  to  save  her.  Anna  Ross's 
quatnhne  was  not  perhaps  the  precise  ark  of  refuge 
in  which  he  would  have  cared  to  sec  a  sister  of  his 
own  take  shelter  ;  but  Portia,  in  her  transparent  in- 
nocence, was  no  doubt  like  Charity — fearing  nothing, 
believing  all  things,  and  hoping  all  things. 

To  think,  however,  that  his  friend  Eames's  babble 
concerning  the  stranger  overhead — the  beautiful  bird 
of  passage,  as  he  had  called  her — should  have  had 
none  other  than  Portia  James  for  its  object !  How 
different  from  the  unconcerned  "Ah  !  "  with  which 


230  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

he  had  greeted  the  communication,  would  have  been 
his  manner  of  receiving  it,  if  he  could  have  had  the 
least  idea  to  whom  it  referred.  The  thought  that 
Portia  might  still  be  free  ;  that  her  marriage  announce- 
ment which  he  had  read  in  the  papers  (would  he 
ever  forget  the  chill  it  had  sent  through  all  his  being  ?) 
was  the  result  of  some  ghastly  blunder,  made  his 
heart  beat  high  with  hope.  He  watched  with  jealous 
eyes  for  the  manifestation  of  some  particular  sym- 
pathy existing  between  his  friend  and  the  supposed 
Miss  Drew  ;  but  Portia's  manner  reassured  him.  Not 
so  his  friend's  !  That  the  gentleman-help  had  been,  in 
vulgar  parlance,  "bowled  over"  would  have  been 
clear  to  less  jealous  eyes  than  his.  Portia  was  the 
same,  and  yet  not  the  same.  She  had  lost  the  en- 
jouement  that  he  remembered,  which  had  been  a  great 
charm.  But  she  had  gained  something  in  its  place 
that  seemed  to  rivet  him  to  her  more  closely  still. 
When  he  had  thought  of  her  hitherto,  it  had  been  as 
of  Undnie  before  she  had  awakened  to  the  possession 
of  a  soul,  or  as  of  the  little  mermaid  before  she  had 
acquired  a  pair  of  white  human  feet  and  immortality 
by  walking  over  knives.  He  could  have  fancied 
that  Portia  was  walking  over  the  knives  now,  and 
that  the  dawn  of  the  newly-awakened  soul  was  re- 
flected in  her  eyes.  If  he  had  been  walking  by  her 
side  in  tlie  Palace  of  Truth  he  would  have  spoken 
out  his  thoughts  concerning  her  ;  but  as  he  was  walk- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  23 1 

ing  under  the  eyes  of  a  third  person,  and  as  she  had 
chosen  to  appear  in  the  character  of  the  young  lady 
to  whom  he  had  been  only  just  introduced,  he  main- 
tained a  discreet  silence.  To  feign  indifference  was 
his  only  refuge.  Under  the  actual  circumstances  he 
felt  that  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 

Mr.  Eames,  for  his  own  part,  thought  it  wiser  to 
abstain  from  making  any  reference  to  thehawk-and- 
pigeon  episode  he  had  witnessed,  but  he  promised 
himself  that  he  would  be  at  hand  upon  the  very  next 
occasion  that  it  should  befall  Miss  Drew  to  sit  in  the 
Luxembourg  Gardens  alone. 

"  Miss  Rossis  not  with  you  }  "  he  said  inquiringly  ; 
his  tone  seemed  to  imply  that  she  ought  to  have  been. 
"I  thought  I  saw  you  go  out  together." 

"She  had  to  go  to  Colla  Rossi's,"  replied  Portia. 
"She  told  me  to  meet  her  at  Clootz's  at  six;  and 
there  is  a  book  I  promised  to  call  for  at  the  atelier 
first  on  the  way. " 

"  May  /get  it  for  you  ^.  "  he  asked  ;  "  or  may  we 
wait  for  you  until  you  are  ready,  as  we  are  going  to 
Clootz's  too .''  " 

"Thanks,  "said  Portia,  hesitatingly  ;  "  but,  indeed, 
I  know  my  way  so  well  from  the  atelier  now." 

Though  her  words  conveyed  no  absolute  refusal  of 
the  offer,  Harry  gathered  from  them  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  afficher  herself  in  public — the  public  at 
Clootz's — with  Mr.  Eames,  and  he  rejoiced  thereat  in 


232  '  THE  FEN  A  ACE  OF  FORTIA  JAMES. 

his  heart.  The  latter,  houLVcr,  did  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  discouraged. 

"  I  hope  you  will  keep  places  for  us  at  your  table, 
then,"  he  said,  "Or,  if  we  are  there  first,  shall  we 
keep  yours  at  ours  .■'  Tolhurst  and  Miss  Ross  are 
old  friends. " 

"Oh,  are  they  ?  "  said  Portia,  raising  her  eyes  sliy- 
ly  towards  Harry's  face  as  she  spoke.  "  I  must  pre- 
pare Anna  for  the  meeting.  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
very  pleased." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  looked  in  his  direction, 
though  she  was  walking  between  the  two  young 
men  as  they  made  their  way  along  the  gravelled 
terrace  fronting  the  ancient  palace,  bordered  by  the 
trim  row  of  orange  trees  in  green  tubs.  The  plea- 
sant feeling  of  complete  ease  which  she  had  known 
when  she  had  last  encountered  Harry  was  gone. 
She  had  herself  willed  that  he  should  pass  for  a 
stranger  in  her  eyes  :  yet  how  could  she  bring  her- 
self to  address  him  as  a  stranger  when  he  was  in 
reality  so  closely  bound  up  with  all  the  associations 
that  she  clung  to  most  in  her  past  life }  She  had 
not  said  to  him  in  so  many  words,  like  the  con- 
spirators in  a  burlesque,  "  Let  us  dissemble."  But 
her  eyes  had  said  it  for  her,  and  he  had  dissembled 
accordingly.  What  could  he  have  thought  of  the 
obligation  she  had  thus  laid  upon  him?  There  was 
yet  another  curious  sensation  respecting  liim   in  her 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  233 

miiul.  Though  the  feeling  of  being  at  ease  in  his 
society  had  disappeared,  the  knowledge  of  the  tacit 
understanding  existing  between  herself  and  him,  the 
sense  of  the  secret  they  were  sharing  together  un- 
known to  all  ( for  even  Anna  need  not  be  told  that 
Harry  was  a  former  acquaintance),  seemed  to  have 
brought  her  into  closer  communion  with  him  than 
ever.  She  remembered  how  she  had  felt  in  her 
childish  days  when  a  household  birthday  was  in 
store  and  a  surprise  was  to  be  operated  upon  Emma 
or  Wilmer — how  the  person  with  whom  she  shared 
the  secret  involved  in  the  preparation  of  the  surprise 
had  assumed  quite  a  new  importance  in  her  life  ; 
how  the  interchange  of  a  look  had  become  an  action 
fraught  with  a  mysterious  significance  of  its  own; 
how  the  idea  of  ^' we  know  something"  seemed  to 
be  expressed  in  every  gesture  of  the  person  who 
was  in  partnership  in  her  secret,  and  what  good 
friends  it  had  made  them  as  long  as  the  secret  lasted. 
Were  these  the  terms  upon  which  she  would  find 
herself  placed  henceforth  with  Harry,  or  was  he 
condemning  her  in  his  mind  for  having  a  secret  at 
all  ?  He  had  answered  her  look  of  inquiry  when 
Anna's  name  was  mentioned,  but  his  voice  had 
sounded  formal  and  distant. 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Ross  at 
Julian's  some  three  years  ago,"  he  said.  "  Dt)es  she 
go  there  still?" 


234  ^-^^  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"  No  ;  she  is  at  Laurens'  now,  and  she  works  out 
of  doors  a  good  deal  besides." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  tremendous  worker,"  put  in  Mr. 
Eames.  "  She  is  serieuse,  as  they  say  at  the  atelier. 
That  reminds  me,  Tolhurst,  you  must  see  her  old 
woman  on  the  beach  at  Etretat.  As  a  '  plein  air  '  it 
is  capital,  full  of  air  and  light.  By  the  bye,  what 
has  become  of  your  Madonna.-'  A  lot  of  fellows 
here  have  told  me  about  it.  They  say  you  could 
never  have  painted  such  a  picture  if  you  hadn't  done 
your  time  in  Paris.      Where  is  she  now  }  " 

"Well,  the  picture  is  hanging-  in  my  studio,"  said 
Harry.  "The  dealers  would  have  none  of  it  al- 
though the  critics  waged  a  fierce  war  over  it.  As 
for  my  model,  she  left  me  en  plan.  That  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  I  came  over.  I  was  at  work  upon 
a  fresh  subject  with  the  same  model,  and  about  a 
week  ago  she  disappeared,  and  I  have  not  been  able 
to  find  a  trace  of  her  so  far." 

"Fancy  that !  "  said  Mr. Eames,  with  mock  solem- 
nity, and  he  softly  chanted  : 

"  '  Je  1'  ai  aimee  autant  que  j'  ai,  pu 
Mais  j'  ai  pas  pu  lorscjue  j'  ai  su 
Qu'elle  me  trompait  avec  Anatole 
A  Batignolles.'  " 

"  Did  you  inquire  at  the  place  she  lived  at }  "  asked 
Portia,  in  a  strained  and  eager  voice.  "Could  they 
tell  you  nothing  of  her  there  V 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  235 

"Nothing  whatever!  "  Tiie  interest  manifested 
by  Miss  Drew  in  his  friend's  model  surprised  Mr. 
Eames  not  a  little.  "  But  she  was  not  a  professional 
model.  I  rather  think  she  was  a  deserted  wife.  Her 
husband  had  sent  her  over  from  America  with  the 
promise  that  he  would  follow  her,  but  after  she  reached 
London  she  heard  nothing  more  of  him;  she  was 
glad  to  earn  a  little  money  by  posing,  and  I  think  she 
used  to  ruminate  over  her  wrongs  while  she  was 
sitting  for  me.  I  have  seen  her  eyes  flash  and  her 
lips  move  more  than  once." 

"Perhaps  the  husband  came  back,"  said  Portia,  in 
a  low  voice,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

"I  hope  he  did,  for  her  sake,  though  not  for  mine. 
It  will  be  a  long  time  before  I  find  such  a  model 
again.  I  believe  that  must  have  been  the  explana- 
tion of  the  mystery  though,  for  they  told  me  at 
the  place  she  lived  at  that  a  broad,  red-bearded  man 
— a  swell  (they  were  careful  to  mention  that  he  was  a 
swell) — had  been  to  see  her  the  day  she  ran  away 
from  the  studio — the  husband,  without  any  doubt ; 
and  there  had  been  a  scene  between  the  newly- 
united  couple,  as  it  appeared.  The  next  morning 
Mrs.  Morris  disappeared  with  her  baby,  bag  and 
baggage,  and  left  no  address,  but  behaved  '  'and- 
some ' — as  her  landlady  told  me — from  which  I  con- 
cluded that  the  husband  is  rich,  and  that  I  may  look 
for  my  model  again  in  vain." 


236  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"What  a  curious  story  !  "  said  Portia.  Slie  paused, 
and  a  deep  roselikc  Uusli  mounted  in  her  cheeks 
before  she  spoke  again.  "  Do  you  know — did  they 
say — could  you  tell  me,  perhaps  "  (she  seemed  to 
find  a  difficulty  in  framing  her  question),  "whether 
the  husband  was  finally  reconciled  to  his — wife? — 
whether  they  stayed  together,  I  mean  ? " 

"I  don't  know  the  sequel,"  said  Harry.  The 
interest  Miss  James  took  in  his  unknown  model, 
which  he  had  attributed  in  the  first  instance  to  her 
sole  recollection  of  his  picture  (how  well  he  remem- 
bered her  telling  him  of  her  weird  impression  in  con- 
nection with  it  the  first  time  she  had  seen  it  standing 
by  his  side  !),  was  beginning  to  puzzle  hW  almost 
as  much  as  Mr.  Eames.  ' '  I  daresay  I  could  find 
out,  though,  if  you  want  to  be  satisfied  upon  the 
point  of  whether  they  lived  happily  'ever  after.'  But 
I'm  afraid  they  didn't,  and  that  they  never  will.  She 
evidently  had  no  confidence  in  him,  and  he  seems  to 
have  left  her  after  making  the  scene  I  was  told  about. 
Whether  she  intended  to  run  after  him  when  she  left 
in  such  a  hurry  the  next  morning,  or  whether  she 
was  running  away  from  him  in  her  turn.  I  have  no 
means  of  knowing.  Sometimes  I  think  she  will  turn 
up  again,  for,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  she  ought  to 
have  written  me  a  line  if  she  had  no  intention  of 
coming  back  at  all," 

"It  would  interest  me  to  know,  if  vou  do  hear," 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  237 

persisted  Portia,  "I  have  seen  the  picture  Mr. 
Eames  was  talking  about  in  the  Academy  ;  I  re- 
member it  very  well.  The  child  was  fair  and  blue- 
eyed,  and  the  Madonna  had  strange  dark  eyes,  with 
a  wistful  look,  that  seemed  to  see  some  far-away 
vision  of  the  cross.  They  were  eyes  that  would 
haunt  one  afterwards.  Mary's  dress  was  a  sort  of 
striped  blue  and  white  drapery,  was  it  not  ?  And 
through  an  open  space  in  the  background  you  could 
see  a  glimpse  of  an  Eastern  landscape  in  a  kind  of 
blinding  sunlight." 

"Well,  if  your  picture  impressed  itself  upon  the 
memory  of  everyone  who  saw  it  as  thoroughly  as 
upon  Miss  Drew,  you  have  no  cause  to  complain, 
old  man,"  said  Mr.  Eames  ;  "you  must  have  struck 
oil  this  time,  and  no  mistake  !  And  this  is  the 
person  who  will  never  say  a  word  about  pictures  to 
me — who  can't  draw,  she  says  !  " 

Harry  turned  towards  her,  with  a  gratified  smile — 
one  of  his  rare  smiles — lighting  up  his  sombre  eyes. 
"You  must  have  been  a  good  many  times  to  the 
Academy,  I  should  think." 

"Only  once,"  responded  Portia,  with  an  answer- 
ing smile  of  quiet  triumph  in  her  glance.  An  un- 
reasoning pleasure  was  coursing  through  her  veins 
as  she  exchanged  this  look  of  secret  understanding 
with  him.  Those  two  little  words  implied  so  much 
more  than  any  but  he  and  she  could  wot  of. 


238  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"Only  once!"  echoed  Mr.  Eames,  while  Harry 
wcis  hugj^ing-  himself  with  the  idea  that  her  avowal 
might  be  construed  as  he  would  fain  have  construed 
it  in  his  heart.  "Then  you  have  a  phenomenal 
memory  for  pictures,  that  is  all  I  can  say  ;  and  upon 
the  ex  pede  Herculem  basis  you  should  make  a 
capital  art  critic.  By  the  bye,  Miss  Ross  said  she 
was  going  to  initiate  you  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
Gaiete  Montparnasse  to-night.  It's  a  great  institu- 
tion. Those  cafes  chanlaiits  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  are  the  abomination  of  desolation  in  my  eyes, 
but  the  Gaiete  is  almost  worthy  of  its  name.  You 
remember  it,  Harry  .?  " 

"I  don't  think  I  can  boast  of  any  acquaintance 
with  it,"  replied  Harry,  drily,  "if  it  is  a  thing  to 
boast  of  at  all.  Miss  Ross's  ways  are  peculiar,  and 
tastes  differ  ;  but  if  the  Gaiete  Montparnasse  is  what 
1  imagine  it  to  be,  I  don't  think  Miss  James — Miss 
Drew,  I  mean — will  be  particularly  edified  or  amused 
by  a  visit  there — a  kind  of  sixth-rate  Paulus-and- 
Therese  entertainment,  I  suppose.'" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it  !  It  has  a  line  of  its  own," 
laughed  Mr.  Eames.     And  once  more  he  hummed  : 

*'  'La  morale  de  c'tte  oraison  la 
C'est  qu'  les  p'titcs  fill's  qu'a  pas  d'  papa 
Doiv'nt  jamais  aller  a  I'ecole 
A  Batignlles. '  " 

The  closing  "  BatignoUes  "  had  each  time  a  long- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  239 

drawn  sonorous  sound  that  fell  tunefully  upon  the 
ear. 

"Do  tell  me  all  the  song,  please,"  said  Portia. 

"  I  will  concoct  an  expurgated  rendering  of  it,  if 
you  will  allow  me,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you  mustn't  let 
yourself  be  prejudiced  by  anticipation  against  the 
Gaiete.  It  has  its  vile  side,  of  course,  if  you  look 
for  it  ;  but  you  won't  look  for  it — and  there  is  some 
awfully  pretty  singing.  It's  a  great  place,  too,  for 
seeing  the  populace.  If  Miss  Ross  really  means  to 
go,  my  friend  and  I  "(he  looked  at  Harry  for  assent) 
"  will  ask  leave  to  accompany  you.  It's  not  a  place 
where  a  lady  ought  to  go  by  herself  " 

"If  Miss  Ross  is  as  I  remember  her,  she  does  not 
admit  that  such  places  exist."  said  Harry. 

"Well,  then,  we'll  help  her  to  take  care  of  Miss 
Drew,  who  does  admit  it,"  said  Mr.  Eames,  and,  the 
limit  of  the  gardens  being  reached  by  this  time,  the 
two  separated  by  the  large  iron  gates  that  guard  the 
entrance  to  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  on  the  Rue  de 
Vaugirard  side.  Portia  went  on  her  way  alone.  The 
expression  that  Harry  read  in  her  eyes  as  she  wished 
him  "  Au  revoir  "  expressed  the  word  Rei?iember  ^s 
plainly  as  ever  the  voice  of  the  murdered  Charles 
sounding  through  the  ages  could  have  uttered  it. 
Before  separating,  it  was  arranged  that  the  party 
should  meet  again  at  Clootz's  half  an  hour  later. 

"Has  Miss  Drew  been   here  long  ?"    was  Harry's 


240  TITE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/ A  JAMES. 

first  question  as  he  turned  away  with  his  friend  ; 
there  was  no  loop-hole  of  a  pretext  for  running  after 
Portia,  as  he  was  longing  to  do  ;  and  the  burden  upon 
his  mind  was  only  in  part  alleviated  by  finding  her 
again  under  circumstances  so  unexpected  and  mys- 
terious. 

"  Six  days  and  six  nights,"  answered  Mr.  Eames 
sententious! y  ;  he  had  lit  his  pipe  immediately  the 
feminine  element  was  removed  from  his  path,  and 
he  was  puffing  it  into  savour  as  he  spoke  ;  "  she 
dropped  down  upon  us  from  the  skies.  I  had  never 
heard  Miss  Ross  mention  her  name  until  one  day, 
going  out  of  the  studio,  I  found  '  a  maiden  sitting  all 
forlorn '  on  the  staircase,  with  a  portmanteau  that  a 
'  hamal '  in  Constantinople  would  have  looked  at 
twice.  She  let  me  shoulder  it  for  her  up  the  stairs, 
and  that  was  the  informal  way  in  which  we  first 
became  acquainted." 

"And  I  suppose  you  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  her 
since  !  "  said  Harry,  gloomily. 

"That  depends  on  what  you  call  a  good  deal.  If 
it  were  any  one  huf  Miss  Drew  I  might  say  yes.  Be- 
ing Miss  Drew,  I  feel  I  have  seen  very  little  of  her. 
She  is  amazingly  reticent  too — so  a  good  deal  in  any 
case  would  only  go  for  a  little.  What  I'm  mostly 
afraid  of  is  that  she's  only  here  as  an  '  oiseau  sur 
la  branche' — '  a  beautiful  bird  of  passage,'  in  short, 
as  I  said  before.     Some  day  she  will  fly  away  as  she 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  24  I 

came.  She  never  says  a  word  about  herself,  either," 
and  with  his  pipe  between  his  lips  Mr.  Eames  con- 
cluded : 

<'  *  Quandeir  s'  balladait  sous  1'  ciel  bleu 
Avec  ses  ch'veux.  couleur  de  feu 
On  croyait  voir  une  aureole 
A  Batignolles.' 

That  is  really  the  colour  of  her  hair,  you  know. " 

"She  doesn't  look  as  though  she  had  been  used 
to  the  kind  of  hfe  Anna  will  induct  her  into,"  observed 
Harry. 

"Neither  has  she  ;  she  has  roughed  it,  she  told 
me,  but  in  a  different  way.  She  comes  from  Austra- 
lia, you  know  ;  that  accounts  for  her  being  a  little 
crude  sometimes  ;  but  even  her  crudity  has  a  charm 
of  its  own.  You  haven't  told  me  what  you  think  of 
her  yet." 

"  Of  Miss  Drew  !  "said  Harry,  jesuitically.  "  My 
good  fellow,  I  can't  form  an  opinion  of  a  woman 
whom  I've  hardly  seen." 

"  You've  seen  enough  of  her  to  form  an  opinion  of 
her  looks,"  I  should  think. 

"  Of  her  looks.  Oh!  she's  good-looking  enough, 
if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"What  a  cold-blooded,  unappreciative  fellow  you 

are.     Well !  you  may  do  the  amiable  to  Anna  Ross 

by-and-by  if  you   choose,  only    leave    the    '  bird  of 

passage '  to  me.  " 

16 


242  THE  PEN  A  ATCE  OF  FOR  TIA  J  A  MES. 

And  in  the  belief  that  his  friend  was  totally  unim- 
pressed by  the  graces  that  he  himself  saw  with  clearer 
eyes  every  day,  he  conducted  Harry,  with  a  light 
heart,  to  Clootz's. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  A  party  of  pleasure,  a  party  of  four, 
Too  few  if  one  less,  and  too  many  if  more. " 

These  words  occurred  to  Mr.  Eames's  mind,  with 
a  mournful  sense  of  their  inappropriateness  to  the 
occasion,  as  he  threaded  his  way  through  the  turmoil 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Gaiete,  towards  the  famous  cafe 
c]ianta7it  of  the  same  name,  by  Anna's  side,  while 
Harry  and  the  supposed  Miss  Drew  followed  at  a 
respectful  distance.  Even  a  party  of  three  would  be 
preferable,  he  thought,  when  one  of  the  three 
happened  to  be  the  right  one.  It  was  a  singular 
fact,  too,  that  after  the  almost  officious  display  of 
indifference  his  friend  had  manifested  towards  the 
"beautiful  bird  of  passage'  to  whom  he  had  been 
recently  introduced,  he  should  have  contrived, 
nevertheless,  and  apparently  by  accident,  to  fall 
behind  with  her  as  soon  as  they  left  the  restaurant. 
Though  to  Miss  Ross  one  part  of  Paris  was  just  the 
same  as  another,  and  though  he  believed  her  capable 
of  walking  fearlessly  about  in  such  uncanny  places 
as  the  Boulevards  exterieurs,  regardless  even  of  the 
hideous  presence  of  the  professional  rodeurs  de  bar- 


244  ^-^^^  PENANCK  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

rieres,  he  knew  that  it  was  not  the  same  with  her 
companion.  Miss  Drew  still  shrank  involuntarily 
when  she  found  herself  in  the  noisy  workmen's 
quarters  of  the  Gaiete  Montparnasse,  where  blouses 
and  sabots  might  be  said  to  hold  the  haiit  du  pave, 
for  all  the  share  of  it  they  gave  the  passers-by  of 
gentler  associations.  She  would  retreat  into  the 
middle  of  the  street  before  the  advance  of  some  tipsy 
Coupeau  staggering  out  of  the  shop  of  a  marchand  de 
vin,  and  the  person  accompanying  her  at  such  a  time 
might  possibly  gain  the  inestimable  privilege  of 
having  her  place  her  hand  within  his  arm  for  protec- 
tion. Mr.  Eames,  it  is  needless  to  say,  would  fain 
have  been  that  privileged  person  ;  but  though  Miss 
Ross  walked  defiantly  on,  keeping  her  place  on  the 
irottoir  with  a  grim  determination  not  to  be  pushed 
off  it  by  all  the  voyous  in  Paris,  and  though  his 
presence  was,  as  he  well  knew,  entirely  superfluous 
upon  the  occasion,  he  could  not  pay  her  the  ques- 
tionable compliment  of  leaving  her  to  prove  her  in- 
dependence alone.  His  misgivings,  however,  were 
not  allayed  by  perceiving,  every  time  he  glanced 
round  in  Miss  Drew's  direction,  that  the  ice  was 
apparently  broken  between  her  new  friend  and  her- 
self He  had  imagined  at  the  outset  that,  in  accord- 
ance with  spiritualistic  theories,  their  auras  must  be 
antagonistic,  and  he  had  regretted  the  circumstance 
— moderately — for  he  would  have  liked  them  to  be 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  245 

friends  in  reason.  But  now  another  fear,  and  a 
keener,  had  taken  possession  of  his  soul.  To  walk 
as  they  were  doing  just  now,  with  their  heads  in- 
clined towards  each  other,  they  must  have  hit  upon 
some  wonderfully  congenial  topic  since  they  had  left 
Clootz's,  at  which  place  he  had  noticed  that  they  had 
hardly  exchanged  a  word.  Now  the  whole  distance 
from  Clootz's  to  the  cafe  was  not  a  mile  :  therefore 
the  spontaneity  of  the  sympathy  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  disquieting. 

Harry  had,  however,  the  best  of  reasons,  though 
Mr.  Eamcs  was  all  unaware  of  them,  for  waiving 
initiatory  formalities  when  he  found  himself  for  a 
few  moments  in  the  unhampered  enjoyment  of  Miss 
Drew's  society.  By  a  kind  of  mutual  understanding, 
he  and  Portia  had  successfully  evaded  the  manoeuvres 
whereby  her  gentleman-help  sought  to  remain  by 
her  side  as  they  left  Clootz's.  And  as  it  is  impos- 
sible for  four  people  to  walk  abreast  in  the  evening 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Gaiete,  it  followed  that,  by  calmly 
maintaining  his  place  and  ignoring  all  his  friend's 
transparent  efforts  to  oust  him  from  it,  Harry  had  all 
the  advantage  on  his  side,  for  he  was  enabled  to  fall 
slowly  behind  with  his  companion.  Once  the  others 
were  separated  from  him  by  ever  so  short  a  distance, 
he  might  speak  without  fear.  In  the  midst  of  the 
foreign  crowd  he  and  his  companion  were  as  much 
alone  for  all  conversational  purposes  as  though  they 


246  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

had  been  on  a  desert  island.  They  might,  indeed, 
have  shouted  State  secrets  or  talked  treason  in  each 
other's  ears,  had  they  been  so  inclined,  without  any- 
body's being  the  wiser. 

But  State  secrets  and  treason  would  not  have  had 
half  the  effect  upon  Harry  of  the  few  timid  words 
uttered,  as  soon  as  they  found  themselves  alone,  by 
the  girl  who  walked  next  to  him.  Portia  plunged 
recklessly  and  without  preamble  into  the  heart  of 
her  subject — the  most  interesting  one  in  the  world 
to  Harry;  since  it  concerned  herself ;  and  if  he  had 
cherished  her  half-confidences  before,  the  sensation 
with  which  he  received  her  fuller  confidences  now, 
and  the  rapture  of  deducing  therefrom  that  she  must 
in  part  have  divined  the  nature  of  the  sentiment  he 
had  given  her  unsought,  may  be  imagined  by  all 
who  have  known  what  it  is  at  some  period  of  their 
lives  to  worship  "a  bright  particular  star,  and  think 
to  wed  it .''  " 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,"  Portia  began  hurriedly — 
the  people  she  encountered  were  pushing  past  her, 
and  bearing  down  upon  her,  with  the  swagger  that  is 
so  true  an  expression  of  the  mental  attitude  of  a 
certain  type  of  ouvn'er  in  Pairs  ;  but  Harry  was  there 
to  clear  a  way  for  her — "  I  want  to  thank  you,  while 
I  have  the  opportunity,  for  not  seeming  to  know  me 
in  the  Luxembourg  this  afternoon.  I  am  hiding  for 
a   little.      I    have  good  reasons  for  it.     It  isn't  my 


«» 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  247 

own  fault,  indeed.  You  may  be  sure  of  that. 
Anna  knows  all  about  it.  But  I  don't  want  my 
friends  to  know  I  am  here.  I  have  taken  my 
mother's  name  to  make  more  sure.  If  Mr.  Eames 
had  seen  that  you  knew  me,  he  might  have  asked 
questions " 

She  caught  her  breath  spasmodically  between  each 
sentence,  and  Harry  guessed  that  the  effort  of  con- 
trolling her  emotion  was  severe.  There  was  some- 
thing in  her  tones  that  suggested  a  risk  of  her  break- 
ing into  a  sob  between  the  pauses.  To  have  an- 
swered her  with  any  kind  of  ceremony,  or  other  than 
straight  from  his  heart,  feeling  as  he  did  at  this 
moment,  would  have  been  impossible  to  him. 

"  It  is  I  who  thank  you  for  trusting  me,"  he  said 
earnestly ;  it  was  necessary  to  speak  very  close  in 
her  ear  in  the  midst  of  the  jostling,  unyielding  crowd, 
and  this  was  just  the  moment  that  Mr.  Eames  chose 
for  taking  observations  in  the  rear.  "  I  know  we 
have  only  met  a  very  few  times,  but  each  time  has 
counted  for  so  much  in  my  life.  I  venture  to  tell 
you  this,  though  I  would  not  have  dared  to  so 
soon  under  any  other  circumstances.  Only  I  am 
so  grateful  to  you  for  trusting  me,  and  I  should  be 
so  much  more  grateful  if  you  would  let  me  help  you. 
I  have  not  the  least  idea  how  you  are  placed  ;  but, 
you  see,  I  have  the  strongest  motives  a  man  can 
have. for  wanting  to  help  you.      Will  you  tell  me 


248  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

what  you  can  of  your  trouble?  Even  after  our  last 
meeting  at  the  Academy  I  did  an  unwarrantable 
thing.  I  had  not  seen  you  in  the  Park  or  anywhere 
else  for  so  long.  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  I 
went  to  your  house  to  inquire.  You  were  in  Paris, 
they  said  ;  and  soon  after  I  saw  an  announcement 
that  you  were  married.  It  was  only  a  few  hours 
ago  that  the  wonderful  idea  that  you  were  still  free 
dawned  upon  me,  when  I  came  upon  you,  as  Miss 
Drew,  in  the  Luxembourg." 

"I  am  not  free!"  said  Portia,  in  low  tones.  "I 
was  married  the  day  I  ran  away  !  " 

The  announcement  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence, 
Harry  had  received  what  is  called,  in  pugilistic  lore, 
a  staggerer.  The  hope  that  had  beat  so  high  an  in- 
stant ago  went  out  suddenly,  leaving  utter  blackness 
behind.  The  "one  maid,  by  Heaven's  grace,"  in 
all  the  world  for  him  was  another  man's  wife.  It 
was  the  bride  of  a  week  that  he  was  wooing  here  in 
this  unholy  atmosphere,  in  the  midst  of  the  stifling 
crowd.  Do  battle  for  her  he  would,  as  he  had  pledged 
himself  to  do,  but  without  hope  of  guerdon.  She 
would  always  be  more  to  him  than  any  other  woman 
in  the  world,  but  the  "  bright  particular  star"  shining 
overhead  in  attendance  upon  the  pale  moon  was  not 
farther  removed  from  his  sphere  than  she.  Some 
men,  learning  what  he  had  learned,  would  have  given 
vent  to   an   oath   under   their  breath.     Harry   said 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  249 

nothing-.  Portia,  on  her  side,  maintained  an  equal 
silence.  There  was  nothing  to  add  to  her  avowal. 
She  was  chewing  the  cud  of  her  own  weakness  and  ' 
folly,  and  very  bitter  it  tasted.  By  what  right  had 
she  trampled  down  the  holy  instinct  that  had  rendered 
John's  arrival  a  terror  to  her  the  morning  she  returned 
from  the  Academy,  with  her  mind  full  of  Harry's  pic- 
ture,  and  her  heart  full  of But  she  had  never 

owned  that  to  herself  before  this  evening.  A  little 
resolution — a  great  deal  of  resolution  even — for  the 
united  wills  of  John  and  Wilmer  and  Emma  made  a 
barrier  difficult  to  overcome — might  she  not  have 
called  it  to  her  aid  when  all  her  life's  happiness  was 
at  stake.?  Oh,  if  Harry  had  only  spoken  before  !  If, 
instead  of  looking  his  sympathy  as  he  bade  her  good- 
bye in  crowded  Piccadilly,  he  had  said  the  simple 
words  "I  love  you  !  "  her  heart  would  have  responded 
instantly.  She  would  not  have  lacked  the  courage 
to  fight  her  battle  then.  She  would  have  gone  armed 
and  strong  to  the  contest.  But  he  had  given  her  no 
such  weapon  to  fight  with.  He  had  shown  her  a 
picture  that  thrust  itself  into  the  foreground,  and  him 
into  the  background.  And  she  had  been  given  no 
time  for  resistance,  hardly  time  for  resignation,  before 
her  fate  had  been  sealed.  And  nothing  but  those 
dreary  words  "  it  might  have  been" — "  the  saddest," 
as  the  poet  has  told  us,  "of  all  the  sad  words  of 
tongue  or  pen  " — remained  for  her  to  fall  back  upon 
now. 


250  TnE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

They  had  been  making  their  way  along  a  Hne  of 
cheap  shops  and  stalls,  whence  the  acrid  odours  of 
pommes  /riles  hissing'  in  rancid  fat,  of  slopped-over 
counters  at  the  niarcUands  de  vin,  mingled  with  the 
fumes  of  cigars  at  two  for  a  sou,  filled  the  air.  Harry 
thought  bitterly  that  it  was  a  fitting  background  for 
the  snuffing  out  of  his  love  idyll.  But,  after  the  first 
sharp  pang  of  personal  disappointment,  pity  for  the 
woman  by  his  side  overcame  his  egoistic  suffering. 
It  must  be  a  dire  tragedy  in  a  young  life  that  could 
drive  a  bride  from  the  bridegroom's  arms  on  the  day 
that  consecrated  their  union.  And  he  had  promised 
to  help  her.  It  might  be  that  there  were  wrongs  to 
redress,  or,  if  redress  were  no  longer  possible,  to 
avenge.  In  a  few  moments  more  the  opportunity 
for  speaking  would  be  gone— perhaps  for  ever.  Mr. 
Eames,  who  had  never  shown  himself  in  so  officious 
a  light  before,  was  looking  round,  and  pointing  ahead 
of  him  along  the  street.  At  the  Gaiete  Montparnasse 
there  would  be  no  possibility  of  exchanging  a  word. 
He  hardly  regretted  now  that  the  crowd  should  push 
against  them  so  roughly.  It  gave  him  an  excuse  for 
loitering  behind,  and  saying  all  that  remained  to  be 
said.  The  silence  that  had  seemed  so  long  had  en- 
dured perhaps  only  a  few  seconds  before  he  was 
replying  to  her  words  : 

"That's  about  as  bad  a  piece  of  news  as  you  could 
give  me  ;  it's  no  use  telling  you  how  I  feel  about  it. 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  25  I 

The  question  is,  can  anything  be  done  to  help  you  ? 
1  suppose  you  didn't  run  away  on  your  wedding-day 
without  having  a  reason  for  it !  " 

"I  had  a  reason."'  Her  voice  had  regained  its 
wonted  cahn,  and  every  word  fell  distinctly  on  her 
hearer's  understanding.  "The  very  day  1  was 
married,  and  just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of  going  away 
with — with  my  husband,  a  woman  came  with  a  little 
baby.  She  told  me  my  husband  did  not  belong  to 
me  at  all — that  he  belonged  by  rights  to  her.  The 
little  baby  was  theirs,"  she  said,  "She  was  the 
woman  whom  you  had  put  into  your  picture  of  the 
Madonna.  I  understood,  when  I  saw  her,  why  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  must  have  seen  something  that 
reminded  me  of  that  picture  when  you  showed  it  me 
for  the  first  time.  The  eyes  you  had  painted — the 
baby's  eyes,  you  know — are  so  exactly  like  those  of 
— of  my  husband." 

"But  he  isn't  your  husband  at  all,  thank  God  !" 
exclaimed  Harry,  eagerly.  "  He's  only  a  miserable 
impostor  !  He  need  never  cross  your  path  again 
unless  you  choose.  Why  did  you  run  away  }  Were 
you  afraid  to  denounce  him  1  Did  you — did  you  care 
for  him }  " 

His  voice  sank  as  he  asked  the  question,  but  Portia 
heard  it  and  understood.  Her  answer  nevertheless 
was  slow  in  coming.  If  she  should  say  Kes,  she 
would  be  telling  an  untruth  ;  if  she  said  No,    wath 


252  THE  PENAMCE  OF  I'OR'J'IA  JAMES. 

must  he  think  of  her?  What  would  any  man  think 
of  a  woman  who  would  go  in  cold  blood  to  the  altar 
to  swear  eternal  love  to  a  man  for  whom  she  cared 
nothing  ? 

"  I  thought  I  cared  for  him,"  she  said  at  last,  em- 
ploying the  same  subterfuge  as  she  had  had  recourse 
to  in  her  communings  with  herself,  "We  had  been 
engaged  almost  since  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  he  had 
come  from  Australia  on  purpose  to  marry  me.  Every- 
thing  was  changed  when  I  found  out  the  truth." 

"And  you  found  it  out  directly  you  came  out  ot 
the  church  ?  "  insisted  Harry,  in  a  husky,  eager 
voice  strangely  unlike  his  usual  measured  utterance, 
"  What  a  Heaven-sent  miracle  of  salvation  that  was !  " 

He  took  off  his  hat  for  an  instant,  and  wiped  his 
forehead,  round  which  the  perspiration  was  pearling 
in  thick  beads. 

"  I  was  getting  ready  to  go  away  upon  my  wed- 
ding trip  with  Mr.  Morrisson,  when  Mary  came  and 
stopped  me,"  Portia  explained  ;  but  Harry  interrupted 
her  sharply  : 

"  Morrisson  !  Is  that  the  man's  name .?  My  model 
called  herself  Mrs.  Morris." 

"Did  she .'' "     The  words  that  came  next  dealt  a 
frosh  stab  to  her  hearers   heart.       "I   am   afraid  it 
would  not  have  been  so  easy  to  stay  behind  after  all 
and  denounce  him,  as  you  say  I  should  have  done 
For  I  don't  Lhink  somehow  tlie   woman — was — was 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTFA  JAMES,  253 

married  to  him  at  all.  He  had  promised  to  marry 
her,  and  that  seems  just  as  binding  in  reality.  But  by 
law  he  was  married  to  me.  I  was  afraid  they  might 
force  me  to  go  on  being  his  wife  if  I  stayed  behind, 
so  I  just  ran  away."  ' 

"  What !     You  ran  away  alone }  " 

"  Yes,  quite  alone  ;  but  I  knew  that  Anna  would 
take  me  in,  and  that  she  would  hide  me  until  we  had 
decided  what  I  should  do.     She  is  a  very  good  friend. " 

"Y — yes,"  assented  Harry,  doubtfully.  "I  am 
sure  she  means  to  be  ;  but  she  has  her  own  way  of 
interpreting  social  obligations.  It's  unusual,  to  say 
the  least  of  it." 

"They  are  signing  to  us  to  come,"  interrupted  Por- 
tia, hastily.      "Let  me  just  say  thank  you  once  more." 

"  If  there  were  only  something  to  thank  me  for. 
Tell  me,  could  you  not  be  in  the  Luxembourg,  just 
where  we  met  you  to-day,  at  the  same  hour  to-mor- 
row .''  I  have  such  a  great  wish  to  be  of  use  to  you 
if  I  can. " 

"I  will  try.  Only  please  don't  let  them  think  we 
have  been  talknig  about  anything  out  of  the  way 
now." 

Her  injuivction  did  not  come  too  soon.  Mr.  Eames 
had  retraced  his  steps,  and  was  hastening  towards 
them  as  she  spoke. 

"Miss  Ross's  orders  are  that  you  hurry  up,"  he 
said.      "  I  give  the  message  verbatim.     It  seems  that 


2  54  T^^^  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

there  is  a  new  programme  on  to-night.  Gar^on  in- 
augurates his  latest  '  ^a  la  fait  rire,'  and  all  the  best 
places  are  taken." 

"You  needn't  stay  longer  than  you  like,"  whis- 
pered Harry  to  his  companion,  as  Mr.  Eames  elbowed 
a  way  for  her  through  the  crowd.  "Only  make  me 
a  sign  when  you  are  tired." 

She  nodded.  They  had  rejoined  Anna  by  this  time 
and  found  her  standing  as  though  rooted  to  one  spot, 
with  an  expression  upon  her  face  that  seemed  to  say 
not  all  the  powers  of  darkness  and  the  Quartier 
Montparnasse  combined  should  cause  her  to  budge 
from  it. 

"How  you  dawdled!"  she  said  to  her  friend. 
"We'd  better  make  haste  in  now,"  and  she  led  the 
way  through  a  broad,  covered  passage  that  conducted 
into  the  body  of  the  building.  Portia  found  herself, 
as  soon  as  the  glare  of  the  gas  and  the  haze  of  the 
tobacco-smoke  allowed  her  to  take  stock  of  her  sur- 
roundings, in  a  small  theatre  of  shabby  appoint- 
ments. Just  as  she  had  felt  upon  her  first  intro- 
duction to  Clootz's,  she  felt  here  no\\^  If  she  had 
dared  to  exercise  her  private  right  of  judgment,  very 
more  thai^  ralher  awful  would  have  most  appropriately 
rendered  her  impressions.  The  spectators  were  on  a 
par  with  the  theatre — not  that  they  were  shabby,  but 
they  were  dressed  for  the  most  part  in  the  garments 
in  which  they  earned  their  livelihood  by  the  "sweat 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.         255 

of  their  brow  " ;  and  the  fact  was  patent  to  more  than 
one  of  her  senses.  Some  were  ambulant  vendors  of 
oranges,  crevettes,  and  other  street  deHcacies.  Others 
— the  aristocracy  these — belonged  to  the  petit-bour- 
geois order,  and  were  mostly  habitues  of  the  Gaiete. 
Sometimes  their  wives  accompanied  them  ;  more  fre- 
quently the  wife  remained  away  to  mind  the  shop. 
There  was  a  scattered  contingent  of  grisettes — not 
unaccompanied — and  a  sprinkling  of  students  and 
artists,  with  or  without  the  latter.  The  seats  that 
Anna  found  were  a  little  behind  the  orchestra,  and, 
having  abroad  ledge  in  front  of  them,  conveyed  a 
grotesque  suggestion  to  Portia's  mind  of  pews  in  a 
church.  There  were  no  prayer-books,  however,  only 
consonimations  of  divers  kinds — bocks,  mazagrans, 
and  petits  vcrres  ranged  thereupon. 

"You'll  have  to  take  something,"  Anna  explained 
to  her  as  they  sat  down.  "Would  you  like  to  taste 
what  absinthe  is  like.''  You  need  only  put  your  lips 
to  it." 

"Oh,  please  not,"  cried  Portia,  "I'll  have  coffee, 
with  milk  in  it."  The  coffee  was  brought  in  a  long 
tumbler.  It  bore  a  very  medicinal  appearance,  and 
was  accompanied  by  three  slabs  of  unsweetening 
sugar  that  seemed  to  have  been  provided  to  take  the 
taste  away.  The  party  of  four  was  seated  in  a  row, 
Portia  between  her  two  admirers.  Mr.  Eames,  to 
make  up  for  time  wasted,  addressed  all  his  conversa- 


256  THE  PEXAXCE  OF  PORTIA  JAI\rES. 

tion  to  her.  The  orchestra  was  playing  the  waltz 
from  Madame  Angot  as  they  entered,  and  the  curtain 
was  up,  displaying  a  tawdry  stage,  with  faded 
draperies  in  the  background.  Portia  had  never  seen 
a  music-hall  performance  of  any  kind  before.  When 
an  ingenuous-looking  youth  with  an  occasional  twist 
of  the  mouth  that  signified  unutterable  things  came 
on  the  stage  and  proceeded  to  sing  a  dozen  verses 
with  the  invariable  refrain  of  "Sije  connaissais  mon 
papa,"  and  when  he  set  forth  in  detail  the  various 
indulgences  he  would  allow  himself  could  the  words  of 
the  refrain  be  realized,  she  laughed  out  loud  and 
thought  the  performance  exceedingly  funny,  without 
in  the  least  comprehending  the  drift  of  it.  Her  naive 
enjoyment  of  it  delighted  Mr.  Eames.  Harry,  on  the 
contrary,  looked  as  John  Knox  might  have  looked 
when  he  was  thundering  in  Mary's  presence  against 
the  French  levity  of  her  blood.  The  scahreux  element 
in  the  Gaiete  songs,  which  was  the  salt  of  the  enter- 
tainment to  the  rest  of  the  audience,  repelled  and 
disgusted  him.  Without  that  element  they  were  fade 
and  meaningless.  It  distressed  him  to  see  Portia 
laughing  in  the  innocence  of  her  heart  at  jokes  of 
which  the  hidden  meaning  would  have  revolted  her 
had  she  been  capable  of  understanding  it.  And  what 
an  epilogue  her  appearance  here  was  to  her  marriage  ! 
A  week-old  bride,  fresh  from  her  girlhood's  home, 
seated  between  two  men  who  were  both  intent  upon 


THE  PEiYANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.         257 

wooing  her,  laughing  at  utterances  that  she  should 
have  ignored  all  her  life,  in  company  with  a  crowd 
who  set  her  down  in  all  likelihood  as  the  mistress  of 
one  or  of  both.  Allowance  must  be  made  for  Harry 
if  he  exaggerated  the  situation  in  his  mind.  He  had 
worshipped  this  woman  next  to  him  as  the  incarna- 
tion of  a  dream  of  innocent  purity,  and  it  hurt  and 
angered  him  beyond  endurance  to  see  the  white  wings 
of  his  divinity  smirched  by  contact  with  the  gross 
things  of  earth. 

The  next  song  pleased  Portia  even  better.     The 
singer  was    a   woman,   who,    though   very  plump, 
looked  still  very  young,  and  who  wore  an  expression 
of  artless  innocence  which  was  almost  angelic.     She 
sang  of  an  interview  with  "Monsieur  le  Cure,"  and 
though  the  air  was  undeniably  pretty,  since  Portia 
understood  very  little  French,  and  could  follow  none 
of  the  words,  it  was  somewhat  of  a  bewilderment  to 
her  to  see  the  audience  laugh  so  boisterously  at  it. 
This  was  followed  by  a  performance  which  was  a 
relief  to  Harry's  overstrained  feelings.     Like  the  dish 
of  sugared  rose-leaves  that  Eastern  epicures  insert  in 
a  succession  of  highly-seasoned  ;!)/a/5,  it  turned  upon 
birds  and  springtime — upon  bucolic  joys  and  pastoral 
pleasures.      It  was  sung  by  an  elegantly  dressed  lady 
and  had  a  succes  d'estime.      Harry  expressed  his  satis- 
faction for  the  first  time,  but  relapsed  into  moody 
silence  a  moment  later  when  the  far-famed  Gar5on 

17 


2  5'^  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

made  his  appearence,  and  was  hailed  with  derisive 
shouts   of  welcome    from    the   audience.     Carbon's 
role  w^as  to  look  like  a  fool,  and  he  was  dressed  ac- 
cordingly.     He  wore  a  red  wig,  and  trousers  that 
were  too  short  for  him.      His  face,  which  was  blonde 
and  shaven,  had  an  expression  of  mingled  imbecility 
and  ruse   that  was  in  itself  a  triumph    of  art.      He 
could    put    on    an  air    of  naivete    that    was   almost 
pathetic  in  its  intensity,  and  could  condense  such  vol- 
umes of  suggestion  into  a  mere  quivering  of  the  eye- 
lid that  his  least  gesture  was  the  signal  for  a  laugh. 
Carbon's  song  of  the  evening  had  a  refrain    called 
"Ca  la  fait  rire,"  and  described  his  wooing  and  wed- 
ding of   a  certain    Josephine.      It  was    boisterously 
encored — and  at   the  end  of  it   Harry  shot  a  rapid 
glance  in  the  direction  of  his  neighbour.     Portia  had 
laughed  delightedly  at  Gar9on's  face  at  the  outset,  but 
now  she  was  looking  away  with  a  grave  and  some- 
what terrified  expression.    Despite  the  heat,  her  cheeks 
and  even  her  lips  were  pale.      Mr.  Eames  was  affect- 
ing to  be  engrossed  in  his  programme.     Gar^on  had 
sotdigned  his  song  in  a  way  that,  even  to  the  com- 
prehension of  an  utterly  unversed  and  unsuspecting 
person  like  our  heroine,  conveyed  a  hint  of  its  turbid 
depths,   and  Portia  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden 
misgiving. 

"  Haven't  you  had  almost  enough  of  this  ? "  Harry 
said  shortly  to  his  neighbour,  "I  think  your  friend 
has." 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  259 

"Take  her  away,  then,"  replied  Miss  Ross,  with- 
out looking  round.      "I  will  follow  when  I  please." 

"Miss  Ross  thinks  you  are  looking  tired,"  was  his 
next  observation,  addressed  this  time  to  Portia  ;  he 
had  ventured  upon  a  free  translation  of  Anna's  words  ; 
"  and  so  I  think  you  are.  Won't  you  let  me  see  you 
home.?  It  isn't  really  worth  stopping  in  this  bad  air 
for,  is  it .?  " 

"  By  the  bye,  I  ought  to  be  in  too  ;  I  have  no  end 
of  letters  to  write,"  observed  Mr.  Eames,  jumping  up 
suddenly.  "  I  can  see  Miss  Drew  back,  if  she  will 
let  me.  I  know  this  thing  from  end  to  end.  You'd 
better   see  it  out  with  Miss  Ross,  Tolhurst. " 

"Thanks!"  said  Harry,  grimly;  he  tried  to  put 
himself  in  his  friend's  place,  and  to  remember  that,  in 
the  ignorance  in  which  the  latter  remained  of  the  real 
aspect  of  the  case,  his  conduct  in  attempting  to  mon- 
opolise Miss  Drew's  society  must  appear  like  that  of 
an  impertinent  interloper.  And  Eames  had  confided 
in  him  too — had  hinted  that  he  was  on  the  point  of 
losing  his  heart  to  INIiss  Ross's  friend,  if  he  had  not 
lost  it  already.  Nevertheless,  Harry  was  loth  to  see 
the  pair  depart  together,  and  his  hesitation  was  so 
apparent  that  Anna  said  indignantly,  "I  won't  have 
one  of  you  three  remain.  If  you  do,  I  shall  go — and 
I  don't  want  to  be  driven  away.  I  will  come  back 
when  I  please  and  as  I  please." 

"You  must  let  one  of  us  stay  to  see  you  home," 
urged  Harry,  reluctantly. 


26o  THE  PENNACE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"To  see  me  home  !  Poor  little  dear  !  "  No  rea- 
soned refutation  could  have  been  half  so  convincing 
as  the  briefly-uttered  mocking  rejoinder,  into  which 
she  infused  all  the  scorn  that  stirred  her  soul.  ' '  You 
do  look  tired,  child,"  she  observed,  as  Portia  turned 
round  to  smile  farewell  at  her.  "Take  a  cup  of  tea 
when  you  get  back — you  may  give  thetn  some  too," 
nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  two  young  men,  who 
stood  up  in  eager  readiness  to  bear  her  away.  "And 
keep  the  kettle  on,  will  you  }  I  dare  say  I  shall  bring 
Rousky  back  with  me." 

The  party  of  three  did  not  prove  much  more  satis- 
factory, after  all,  than  the  party  of  four,  to  Mr. 
Eames's  thinking.  Harry  said  but  little,  certainly  ; 
his  presence  made  it  impossible  to  talk  of  other  than 
indifferent  subjects.  No  allusion  was  made  to  the 
place  they  had  left.  Portia  felt  a  sudden  and  unac-« 
countable  diffidence  in  referring  to  it.  The  only 
thing  it  suggested  to  her  mind  was  a  dim  recollection 
of  a  childish  experience  she  had  had  years  ago  when 
she  had  run  to  pluck  a  beautiful  rose-bough  in  the 
Yarraman  garden.  As  she  stretched  out  her  hand  for 
the  rose  a  cluster  of  caterpillar  larva?,  one  moving 
mass  of  black  corruption,  curled  and  wriggled  round 
the  stem.  She  had  burst  into  tears  and  run  away. 
Besides  the  disgust  inspired  by  the  larvae,  there  was 
the  degradation  of  the  poor  rose  to  afflict  he;'.  The 
tuneful  singing  she  had  heard  a  while  ago  made  her 


THE  PKXANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  261 

think  of  this  experience  anew.  Eut  it  was  not  a 
thing  to  be  discussed  aloud.  She  invited  her  two 
escorts  into  Anna's  room — and  despite  the  letters  that 
Mr.  Eames  had  on  his  mind,  he  eagerly  responded  to 
the  invitation. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  was  under  the  shelter  of  the  effigy  of  one  of  the 
earlier  French  queens,  clad  in  the  stiff,  cumbersome 
garments  of  her  time,  beneath  the  stone  presentment 
of  which  the  chisel  of  even  a  French  sculptor  had 
been  unable  to  suggest  the  existence  of  a  woman's 
form,  that  Portia  had  her  promised  interview  with 
Harry  the  next  day.  Early  as  she  had  arrived  at  the 
trysti ng  place,  he  was  there  before  her.  She  had 
recognized  him  from  afar  off,  as  she  advanced  slowly, 
with  a  step  that  spoke  of  inward  trepidation,  towards 
the  bench  upon  which  he  was  seated.  In  accepting 
his  offer  of  help,  as  in  promising  to  see  him  alone, 
she  was  doing  nothing  for  which  her  conscience  need 
smite  her.  Yet  so  unused  was  Portia  to  anything 
that  savoured  of  deception,  that  even  this  innocent 
cachotlen'e  set  her  trembling.  There  was  no  one  to 
watch  her  here,  no  one  to  whom  she  need  feel  herself 
accountable  for  her  comings  and  goings.  Yet  there 
was  such  a  startled  expression  in  her  eyes  of  curious 
hue,  those  eyes  that  Harry  knew  so  well  and  thought 

26i 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  263 

of  SO  often,  that  the  sight  of  them  moved  him  with 
pity.  Her  manner  had  none  of  the  confident  buoy- 
ancy that  had  marked  it  when  she  mounted  the  Acad- 
emy steps  radiant,  and  smiling  a  few  weeks  ago. 
She  wore  what  seemed  to  him  a  haunted  look,  and 
to  reassure  her  he  essayed  to  speak  of  commonplace 
subjects  in  the  easy  tones  of  one  who  meets  unpre- 
meditatedly  a  mere  casual  acquaintance. 

"  How  do  you  do .? "  he  shook  her  hand  cordially, 
' '  Isn't  it  a  lovely  afternoon  for  sitting  out  under  the 
trees.?  I  have  found  such  a  pleasant  seat  over  there. 
I  was  looking  up  through  the  branches  of  the  yellow 
leaves  hidden  in  the  green.  Have  you  ever  seen  an 
autumn  in  the  Luxembourg .?  " 

"No,"  she  replied;  she  was  beginning  to  feel  a 
little  more  at  her  ease  now,  and  she  took  her  seat  by 
his  side  on  the  bench.  "I  have  seen  only  one  au- 
tumn in  Europe,  but  it  seemed  to  me  almost  too 
wonderful  to  be  real.  We  have  no  autumn  in  Aus- 
tralia, you  know.  We  were  travelling  through  Switz- 
erland. It  was  the  end  of  October,  and  the  Alps 
were  covered  with  snow  to  their  base.  The  trees — . 
those  tell  Lombardy  poplars — had  lost  none  of  their 
leaves,  but  they  had  turned  a  golden  yellow  all  over. 
The  weather  was  lovely,  and  the  sky  was  a  shining 
blue.  When  I  saw  the  golden  trees  growing  out  of 
the  dazzling  white  snow,  I  thought  it /oo  wonderful — 
I  could  not  have  believed  a  landscape  could  ever 
come  to  to  look  like  that." 


264  '^J^J^  VENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

"  I  know  the  effect  you  speak  of,"  Harry  said,  mus- 
ing. "  Out  of  the  thousand  autumn  picture  one  sees, 
I  have  never  seen  that  particular  combination  exactly 
rendered.  I  think,  though,  the  most  gorgeous  autumn 
scene  I  ever  beheld  was  on  the  shores  of  the  Bos- 
phorus.  You  have  been  to  Constantinople  ?  No  ! 
Then  I  don't  know  how  I  am  to  give  you  any  idea 
in  words  of  the  riotous  medley  of  colours  you  see  from 
a  distance. '" 

He  essayed  nevertheless,  warming  to  his  sub- 
ject as  he  recalled  every  marvellous  detail  of  the 
brilliant  panorama,  bright  and  many-hued  as  a  par- 
rot's wing.  Portia  listened  in  silence.  She  had  for- 
gotten for  the  moment  the  chain  that  bound  her.  She 
was  walking  in  imagination  through  the  enchanted 
scenes  Harry  was  word-painting  for  her,  scenes  that 
had  not  existed  for  her  hitherto,  save  in  the  pages  of 
the  Arabidfi  A^igh/s  or  oi  Lalla  Rookh,  the  two  sources 
whence  she  had  drawn,  it  is  to  be  feared,  her  prin- 
cipal knowledge  of  an  Oriental  niise-en-schie.  A 
sense  of  the  boundless  delights  the  world  had  to 
offer  to  two  minds  in  entire  sympathy  grew  upon 
her  as  she  listened.  And  the  possibility  of  such  joys 
as  these  had  been  within  her  reach  ! — she  would 
have  had  but  to  stretch  out  her  hand  to  grasp  it  at 
the  very  moment  when  she  had  deliberately  and 
recklessly  flung  it  away  !  For  a  moment  she  could 
have    wished  that,  like  Anna,  she  had    asserted  her 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  265 

right  to  do  as  she  pleased  before  marriage  instead  of 
after  it.  The  artist  band  in  Paris  would  soon  be 
dispersing  now,  and  each  would  go  his  separate  way 
without  let  or  hindrance.  Why,  even  if  the  Swedish 
girls  and  her  friend  should  go  to  Constantinople,  no 
one  would  say  them  nay,  and  on  their  return  they 
would  find  the  same  alcUcr,  the  same  table  at  Clootz's, 
the  same  interests  and  associations  open  to  them  as 
before.  Perhaps  Anna  was  right,  after  all.  It  was 
the  people  themselves  who  spoiled  the  world,  either 
by  violence,  or  by  restrictions,  or  by  interference  with 
each  other's  movements  ;  and  it  was  only  those  who 
heeded  none  of  these  things,  and  who  went  their  own 
ways,  who  could  find  any  satisfaction  in  living. 

Reflections  of  this  nature  brought  Portia  back  to 
the  actual  circumstances  of  her  position.  It  was 
one  thing  to  wander  in  fancy  with  Harry  against 
an  intangible  Oriental  background,  and  quite  an- 
other to  be  found  with  Mr.  Tolhurst  against  the 
actul  background  of  the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  Des- 
pite Anna's  "  live  and  let  live  "principle,  she  would 
not  have  cared  to  see  her  cross  the  gardens  just 
now.  Portia  felt  herself,  indeed,  somethingof  a  trait- 
ress to  her  friend,  for  had  she  not  come  out  this 
afternoon  to  take  counsel  of  another  all  unknown  to 
her.? 

"After  what  you  said  last  night,"  she  began,  sud- 
denly   and    irrelevantly,   as  she  traced  unconscious 


266  THE  PENANCE  OF  TORTIA  JAMES. 

patterns  on  the  gravel-path  at  her  feet  with  the  point 
of  her  parasol  (many  a  hieroglyph  drawn  by  the  point 
of  a  woman's  parasol  is  the  unenduring  record  of 
some  paramount  passage  in  her  life's  history),  "  I 
know  1  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  you  everything  and 
to  ask    you  what    you  think  I  had  better    do." 

She  paused  irresolute,  her  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the 
ground.  Harry,  for  his  part,  was  hanging  on  her  every 
word,  lie  could  not  see  her  face,  for  she  persisted  in 
keeping  her  head  down,  but  he  had  a  view  of  the 
lower  half  of  her  charming  profile,  and  his  imagina- 
tion filled  up  the  remainder.  .  He  had  known  "he 
loved  her  from  the  beginning ;  but  in  accordance 
with  the  irony  of  Fate,  he  must  needs  be  deprived  of 
the  opportunity  of  avowing  it  until  just  after  she  had 
contracted  marriage  with  another  man.  INIeeting  licr 
during  the  crisis  that  followed,  he  must  find  himself 
in  the  position  of  her  counsellor  and  mentor,  instead 
of  her  wooer,  and  must  force  himself  to  give  her  the 
very  same  advice  that  he  would  have  given  to  a 
cherished  sister  under  like  circumstances.  Here,  at 
least,  was  his  clearly  defined  duty,  but  it  was  a  duty 
that  promised  to  be  all  the  harder  of  fulfilment,  that 
something  in  Portia's  manner  seemed  to  tell  him  that 
if  she  had  still  possessed  her  freedom  he  would  not 
have  wooed  her  in  vain.  That  was  a  maddening 
thought  for  a  man  situated  as  he  was.  Portia,  in 
asking  him  to  decide  for  her,  was    surrendering    her- 


THE  PENANCE  OF  POKT/A  /AMES.  267 

self  virtually  into  his    hands.      Her  action  in   niarry- 
in;;-  a  man  she  did  not   love  simply  because  she  had 
no  power  to  resist  surrounding-  influences,  her  flight 
immediately  after  the  marriage,  and  her  helplessness 
and  irresolution  when  the  flight  was  accomplished — 
all  this  seemed  to  prove  to  him  that  she  was  without 
the  moral    support    known  as   backbone  (an    appro- 
priate designation,  since  it   is    only    with   the   verte- 
brates that  the  faculty  of  resisting  our  environments 
seems  to  have  been  evolved).      He  had  suspected  as 
much  before,  but  he  did  not  love  her  the  less  for  it. 
He  would  have  had  backbone  enough  for  both    if  he 
could  have  made  her  his  wife.      He  reproached  him- 
self bitterly  in  secret  with  his  faint-heartedness  upon 
the  memorable  day  when  he  had  shown  her  his  pic- 
ture of  the  Madonna.      Perhaps  that  day  had  been  the 
turning-point  in  their  lives,   and  he  had  not  known 
how  to  seize  it.      Yet  how   could  he   have    imagined 
that  she  was  about  to  slip  out  of   his  life  for  ever } 
They  had  been  such  entire  friends  that   morning — it 
would  have  seemed  almost  an  easy  matter  to   say  to 
her  then,  "You  know  I  love  you  !  do  you  not .?  and 
I  want  you  to  be  my  wife,  if  you  will."     But  he  had 
not  dared  to   say  it.      He   had  allowed  worldly  con- 
siderations to  weigh  with  him.      He  was  not  so   sure 
of  making  his  mark  then  as  he  felt  now.      Portia  was 
spoken  of  as  an  heiress,  and  he  had  nothing  but  his 
art  and  his  work  to  set  against  her  fortune.      People 


268  TJIE  PEjVAA'CE  of  PORTIA  JAMES. 

would  have  said  that  he  had  taken  undue  advantage 
of  the  tirst  chance  of  winning  the  heiress  that  had 
fallen  in  his  way.  He  had  been  moved  by  consid- 
erations which  after  all  would  have  been  reasonable 
enough  under  ordinary  circumstances.  Yet  it  re- 
quired no  little  effort  to  remember  at  this  moment 
how  he  was  situated  towards  Portia,  and  to  give  her 
the  counsel  that  honour  and  duty  demanded  he 
should  give  her.  "What  do  you  think  I  had  better 
do }  "  she  had  asked,  and  her  words  echoed  through 
his  brain,  and  raised  a  strange  tumult  in  his  heart. 
He  felt  that  he  had  only  to  say,  "Of  course,  you 
must  stay  where  you  are,"  and  in  a  very  short  time, 
in  a  school  like  Anna's — under  an  influence  like  Anna's 
— he  might  persuade  her  of  his  Heaven-sent  right  to 
become  all  in  all  to  her.  And,  once  he  had  per- 
suaded her  of  this,  legal  formalities  might  be  deferred 
for  subsequent  regulation.  Her  relations  would 
move  Heaven  and  earth,  or  rather  the  Church  and 
the  State,  to  have  her  imion  with  him  properly  ra- 
tified, and  to  have  the  other  meaningless  ceremony 
annulled.  But  let  her  return  to  England  now,  and 
all  their  influence  and  power  would  be  employed  to 
force  her  back  into  the  unholy  bonds  that  she  had 
been  driven  into  against  her  will  at  the  outset. 

"You  ask  me  what  you  are  to  do,"  he  said  at  last 
slowly  ;  he  would  not  avow  that  he  shrank  from  the 
responsibility  laid  upon    him.      "Will    you    answer 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  269 

me  one  question  first?  Supposing  you  were  con- 
vinced that  the  man  you  married  most  bitterly  re- 
pented the  sin  that  drove  you  away  from  him — sup- 
posing this  woman,  Mrs.  Morris,  or  whatever  she 
calls  herself,  could  be  spirited  away,  right  away,  no 
matter  where — would  you  still  have  the  some  horror 
of  returning  to  your  husband?  Would  you  want  to 
separate  your  life  from  his  under  any  circumstances  ? 
I  am  more  anxious  then  I  can  say  to  advise  you  for 
the  best.  I  thought  I  must  be  dreaming  yesterday 
when  I  came  upon  you  suddenly  in  the  Luxembourg  ; 
but  afterwards,  as  I  thought  over  your  story  in  the 
night,  the  dream  seemed  to  turn  into  a  nightmare. 
I  can  advise  you  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  your  own 
feelings  are  what  you  should  consult  before  all.  If 
this  obstacle  had  not  arisen,  the  thought  of  running 
away  would  never  have  entered  intoyour  head. " 

He  made  this  assertion  doubtfully,  almost  interroga- 
tively. Portia  continued  to  trace  patterns  with  the 
point  of  her  parasol.  The  first  autumn  leaves  were 
fluttering  down  upon  her  in  the  soft  evening  breeze. 

"I  had  thought  of  doing  it  before,"  she  said  at 
last,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice  ;  "  but  never  after  I 
was  once  married." 

Pleasant  sounds  were  wandering  to  the  bench 
where  they  sat.  The  distant  babble  of  children's 
voices,  the  twittering  of  the  fearless  sparrows,  the 
mingled  cadence  of  falling  water  and  rustling  leaves, 


270  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

all  these  would  have  made  a  soothing  accompani- 
ment to  the  beating  of  a  peaceful  heart.  But  Harry's 
heart  was  far  from  being-  peaceful.  Disappointment 
unspeakable  was  causing  it  to  ache  and  throb.  He 
loved  this  woman  by  his  side.  She  was  weak  be- 
yond all  believing.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  be 
married  almost  in  spite  of  herself.  There  were  none 
of  the  elements  of  a  Bride  of  Lammermoor  in  her 
nature.  Nevertheless  he  loved  her.  Her  personality 
had  a  charm  for  him  that  set  all  reasoning  at  defi- 
ance. Her  very  weakness  attracted  him.  How  en- 
tirely she  would  have  leaned  upon  him  if  he  could 
have  won  her  for  himself,  to  have  and  to  hold  till 
death  parted  him  from  her.  But  now  it  was  his 
bounden  duty  to  send  her  away  from  him.  The 
longer  she  stayed  with  Anna,  the  more  critical  her 
position  would  become.  There  were  dangers  around 
her  of  which  she  could  have  no  understanding.  Even 
as  it  was,  would  not  the  shadow  of  her  rash  action 
hang  like  a  dark  cloud  over  all  her  future  life? 
Moreover,  there  was  the  moral  aspect  of  the  question 
to  be  considered.  Had  she  not  taken  upon  herself 
solemn  vows  in  the  most  solemn  place  in  the 
world.?  Harry  Tolhurst  possessed  what  is  known 
as  the  religious  temperament.  The  fact  that  the 
marriage  rite  had  been  actually  performed  was  one 
that  had  great  weight  with  him.  The  evening  before 
he  had  supposed  for  an  instant  that  Portia's  husband 


THE  I'ENAACK  Ol-  rOKTTA  JAMES.  27 1 

had  committed  bit^amy,  in  which  event  her  own 
share  in  the  vows  she  had  taken  would  have  counted 
for  nothing.  But  the  marriage,  as  he  now  knew, 
was  a  vaHd  one,  and  the  religious  service  could  not 
be  gainsaid.  He  reviewed  the  case  rapidly  in  his 
mind  before  he  said  gently,  but  firmly  : 

"Then  you  had  counted  the  cost !  And  the  dis- 
covery you  made  after  your  marriage  is  all  we  have 
to  think  of." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so."  There  was  something 
hopelesely  despondent  in  her  manner  of  assent.  "I 
thought  we  might  arrange  something  here  ;  but  it 
does  not  seem  like  it  now.  Anna  wants  me  to  stay 
with  her  at  all  costs.  She  wants  me  to  become  a 
model " — Harry  fancied  he  could  detect  a  slight 
tremor  in  her  voice — "but  I  don't  see  my  way.  I 
feel  as  though  I  were  drifting,  as  though  I  were 
rudderless — if  you  can  understand." 

"Indeed  I  can  ;  "  his  tones  were  full  of  sympathy. 
"I  was  on  board  a  ship  once  that  had  lost  her 
rudder.  There  is  always  great  danger  of  drifting  on 
to  the  rocks.  Now,  if  you  will  let  me  advise,  I 
think  you  ought  to  go  home  directly.  Go  and  put 
yourself  under  your  brother's  protection.  You  seem 
to  have  run  away  just  to  escape  from  a  position  in 
which  you  felt  yourself  helpless  to  act.  But  when 
you  go  back  things  will  have  arranged  themselves, 
There  is  no  risk  of  vour  beinsj  forced  to   act   now 


2  72  THE  PENANCE  OF  POA'T/A  JAMES. 

without  due  time  for  reflection.  And  you  will  be 
safer  there  than  here.  Believe  me  you  will.  Miss 
Ross's  home  is  no  place  for  you.". 

All  the  time  he  was  urging  her  to  depart,  his 
heart  was  crying  out  to  him  to  bid  her  remain.  But 
for  the  very  reason  that  he  was  doing  a  violence  to 
his  secret  desires,  his  spoken  words  were  vehement. 
Portia  could  have  no  conception  of  the  extent  to 
which  she  tried  him  by  her  reply. 

"Then  I  know  how  it  will  all  end  !"  she  said 
piteously.  "  John  cares  for  me  terribly  "  (it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  heard  her  speak  of  her  husband 
as  John) ;  "he  vi' ill  never  hear  of  anything  but  my 
returning  to  him,  and  he  will  have  talked  the  others 
over  by  now." 

To  this  Harry  made  no  rejoinder  until  he  had 
gathered  strength  sufficient  to  say,  "Even  that 
would  be  better  than  following  out  Anna's  plan  of 
life— I  think." 

"Do  you  think  so.?  Oh!  I  wish  you  could  hear 
her  talk  !  "  She  paused,  and  continued  rapidly,  without 
looking  at  him,  "Unless  people  come  together  from 
sheer  love  of  each  other,  and  only  stay  together  just 
as  long  as  the  want  to  do  so  is  there,  it  is  all  wrong 
and  unnatural,  she  says.  She  talks  about  it  so 
wonderfully  sometimes  ;  1  wish  you  could  hear  her." 

"Oh!  I  know  the  free  love  doctrine,"  Harry  said 
grimly.       '  Listen."     Portia  raised  her  head  in  aston- 


THE  PRXANCE  OF  PORTIA  JA.VES.  273 

ishment,  his  voice  and  manner  were  solemn.    "I  am 

going  to  speak  to  you,  if  I  can,  as  father,  brother, 

lover — all  in  one.     For  I   want  you  to  understand 

that  I  love  you  better  than   myself.     Do  you  know 

that  if  it  were  to  any  one  but  me  you  quoted  Anna's 

words,    you    would   be  doing  a    very  risky    thing  ? 

People  might  not  understand.     Supposing  I  were  to 

take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  you  are  Anna's  disciple 

to  uphold  her  doctrine  to  you  on   my  own  account. 

Do  you  know  where   it  would  lead  us .?     It    would 

lead,  in  the  first  place,  to  my  trying  to  compass  your 

ruin.      If  love    and   inclination    are   to  be  the    only 

arbiters  ;  if  honour  and  duty  and  self-control  are  to 

have  no  say  in  the    matter  at  all,  what  is  to  prevent 

my  acting  upon  the  impulse  that  moves  me  now  .-* 

What  is  to  prevent  my  entreating  you  to  try  and  care 

for  me  a  little  1     Why  should  I  not  say.    Forget  all 

the  ghastly  business   of  the  other  day,    and  let   us 

begin  a  new  life  together  here.     Don't  look  terrified  " 

(for  Portia  had  turned  a  face  of  pale  astonishment 

towards  him),   "  I  care  for  you  too  truly  to  say  it" — 

his  voice  was  trembling  with  a2:itation.      "  I  care  for 

you   {ox  yourself,  my  dear.     That  means,  that  I  set 

too  great  a  value  upon  your  peace  of  mind,  and  your 

reputation,    to  ever  want  you   to  fling  them    away 

for  me.     There  are  things  that  count  for  more  than 

love " 

He    broke    off  suddenly.       Portia's    eyes    were 
18 


2  74  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

suffused.  He  felt  that  his  resokition  was  giving  way. 
If  she  continued  to  look  at  him  like  that  it  would 
abandon  him  altogether  ;  or,  rather,  it  would  expend 
itself  in  words,  while,  in  obedience  to  the  overmas- 
tering instinct  that  stirred  him,  his  arm  would  steal 
round  her  neck,  and  his  lips  would  seek  hers. 

But  Portia  had  lowered  her  eyes  again.  "  I  know 
why  you  speak  like  that, "  she  said.  "  You  are  think- 
ing of  what  is  to  come  afterwards — after  we  are  dead, 
I  mean." 

"Yes  !  "  he  replied.  "  I  believe  in  a  future,  too. 
I  think  we  are  called  upon  most  often  to  climb  the 
steep  and  thorny  path  to  Heaven." 

"  But  if  one  did  not  think  that !  "  she  was  transfix- 
ing the  withered  leaves  at  her  feet  with  her  parasol, 
and  sweeping  them  over  the  hieroglyphs  on  the 
gravel. 

"  If  one  did  not  think  that,"  he  repeated.  But  his 
voice  changed  ;  Anna  and  Mr.  Eames,  walking  side 
by  side,  were  advancing  towards  them  under  the 
trees.  The  dissatisfaction  of  the  latter  was  apparent 
in  his  step.  It  is  not  only  the  facial  muscles  ;  every 
muscle  of  the  body  expresses  moods — witness  the 
difference  in  the  outline,  however  distant,  of  a  boy 
on  his  way  to  be  caned,  and  the  same  boy  out  for  a 
holiday. 

"Found  at  last !  "  said  Anna,  triumphantly.  There 
was  a  mocking  gleam  in  her  black  eyes  as  Portia  rose 


TIIK  PF.XANCE  OF  PORT/A  JAMES.  275 

in  confusion  to  greet  her.  "See,  I  have  a  telegram 
for  you.  I  dare  say  it's  only  a  device  on  the  part  of 
your  friends  to  get  you  away." 

The  message  delivered  into  Portia's  hands  had 
been  through  double  forms.  Addressed  in  the  first 
instance  to  the  suburban  post-office  in  London  where 
Anna's  friend  called  for  the  letters  she  transmitted  to 
the  runaway,  it  had  been  re-telegraphed  by  her  to 
Paris.  Portia  ran  her  eyes  over  it  hurriedly.  The 
signature  which  caught  her  eye  first  was  Eliza's  and 
the  message  was  to  the  following  effect  : 

"Come  back.  Mary  Willet  run  over;  not  ex- 
pected to  live.      'Wants  you  immediately." 

Portia  to  the  profound  and  jealous  astonishment  of 
Mr.  Eames,  put  this  dispatch  into  Harry's  hands  at 
once.  She  had  turned  pale  to  the  lips  as  she  read  the 
contents.  Harry  felt  that  some  explanation  was  due 
to  the  others. 

"  'We  have  found  out,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  that  we 
have  a  friend — Miss — er — Drew  and  I  whom  we  are 
both  in  Paris  to  assist.  I  suppose,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing gravely  to  her,  "you  will  go  to  her  at  once — 
won't  you }  " 

"Yes  :  oh,  yes  !  "  There  was  sharp  distress  in  her 
tones.      "  I  will  leave  for  England  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Portia  was  not  suffered  to  repeat  the  experience 
that  attended  her  flight  from  London,  as  she  took  her 
hurried  departure  from  Paris  a  few  hours  later.  Four 
people  saw  her  off  at  the  Gare  du  Nord  by  the  night 
train  for  Calais.  Mr.  Eames,  who  sadly  realised  that 
his  designation  of  her  as  a  beautiful  bird  of  passage 
had  been  only  too  appropriate,  was  among  them. 
Neither  he  nor  his  friend,  between  whom  and  himself 
a  marked  coldness  had  sprung  up,  dared  to  put  into 
execution  a  project  that  both  had  secretly  cherished 
of  offering  to  escort  her  to  London.  Portia  was  con- 
scious of  a  slight  sense  of  shame  as  she  stood  at  the 
window  of  the  first-class  ladies'  compartment  to  wish 
her  friends  good-bye.  She  felt  that  to  indulge  in 
luxurious  travelling  was  a  backsliding  ;  besides  which 
Anna  and  Rousky  scorned  all  save  third-class  fares. 

Nevertheless,  as  the  train  moved  smoothly  off,  to 
the  satisfaction  of  everybody  (for  the  whole  party, 
was  fast  relapsing  into  the  condition  of  mental  vacuity 
that  prolonged  railway-station  farewells  engender), 
she  could  not  be  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  here  at 
least  she  might  think  over  things  in  comfortable  and 

276 


THE  PEA' A  NCR  OF  PORTTA  JAMES.  277 

cushioned  solitude.  The  news  of  Mary's  accident 
had  shocked  her  profoundly.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  mysterious  message  of  Harry's  Madonna  had  not 
been  fully  delivered  even  yet.  The  final  words  had 
still  to  be  spoken.  Portia  believed  now  that  from  the 
first  moment  of  beholding  the  picture  she  had  recog- 
nised the  power  that  would  henceforth  control  her 
destiny.  At  Mary's  call  she  had  fled  from  her  home  ; 
at  the  same  call  she  was  returning  to  it  now.  On 
Mary's  behoof  she  had  put  her  husband  away  from 
her.  What  might  she  not  be  called  upon  to  do  next ! 
Her  thoughts  travelled  backwards  and  forwards  be- 
tween Anna's  qualrieme  and  the  rose-embowered  Ken- 
sington home.  She  reflected  that  only  where  a 
woman's  affections  are  fixed  there  can  she  cast  her 
anchor.  Perhaps  it  was  the  impossibility  of  so  fixing 
them  that  made  Anna  renounce  all  home  ties  and 
lead  a  vagrant  life.  She  had  a  dim  suspicion  that 
Anna  dragged  her  anchor  from  time  to  time,  and 
that,  despite  her  apparent  indifference,  she  was  one 
of  those  whom  the  "howling  winds,"  would  drive 
devious,  tempest-tossed  to  the  end  of  her  days.  This 
time  there  was  no  moonlit  landscape  to  mingle  its 
fantastic  glories  with  the'  dreams  our  heroine  was 
weaving.  The  reign  of  the  August  moon  was  over, 
and  a  warm  darkness  covered  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  tide  of  voyagers  was  setting  from,  not  towards, 
the  English  shores.      Portia  might  have  been  wander- 


278  THE  TENANCE   OF  TOKTIA  JAMES. 

\\v^  with  ghosts  through  an  impalpable  limbo  for  all 
the  communion  she  held  with  her  few  fellow-passen- 
gers on  the  journey.  It  was  hardly  past  sunrise  when 
she  arrived  at  Victoria  Station  and  found  herself  once 
again  under  the  familiar  overhung  London  sky.  Her 
hair  felt  dank  against  her  temples  as  she  drove  to 
Kensington.  The  trees  in  the  Park  looked  black  and 
drooping.  Where  was  the  radiant  green,  shining  be- 
hind a  shimmery  silver  veil,  that  she  remembered  so 
well.''  She  leaned  back  in  her  cab  and  closed  her 
eyes  wearily.  She  could  not  have  believed  that  all 
could  change  so  utterly  above  and  around  her,  with- 
out and  within,  in  so  short  a  space  of  time. 

Portia  had  never  so  fully  realised  that  she  had  put 
herself  into  the  position  of  an  outcast  as  upon  her 
return  to  her  home  at  this  early  hour  of  the  day.  As 
no  one  expected  her,  no  one  was  up  to  receive  her. 
The  cabman  was  obliged  to  hammer  at  the  door  and 
ring  the  area  bell  persistently,  with  an  oft-repeated 
"/Art/ '11  bring 'em  out !  "  before  the  blue-and-silver 
footman,  stripped  of  his  distinguishing  trappings, 
proceeded  to  unlock  and  unchain  the  frontdoor.  The 
person  to  whom  he  opened  it  scuttled  past  him  with 
a  short  "Good  morning,  William!"  to  her  room. 
It  annoyed  her  to  feel  sure  that  the  first  thing  he 
would  do  would  be  to  clatter  round  to  the  servant's  re- 
gions to  give  the  news  of  her  return  redhot.  She  found 
the  door  of  her  room  locked,  and  it  was  necessary  to 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT! A  JAMES.  z'Jf) 

climb  another  storey  to  wake  Nurse  Eliza,  \vlio  pro- 
bably kept  the  key.  And  Eliza,  once  awakened, 
would  not  let  her  go.  Time  had  been  when  Portia 
had  crept  into  the  faithful  creature's  bed  upon  thun- 
dery nig-hts  at  Yarraman,  when  the  vision  of  the 
picture  of  devils  in  Wilmer's  illustrated  copy  of  the 
Ingoldsby  Legends,  over  the  words 

"Then  did  she  reek,  and  squeak,  and  sliriek. 
With  a  wild,  unearthly  yell." 

had  recurred  to  her  with  disagreeable  force  every 
time  the  lightning  flashed.  She  recognised,  just  as 
of  old,  the  row  of  light  little  plaits  into  which  Eliza 
was  wont  to  twist  her  hair,  to  give  it  a  wave  the 
following  day. 

"Did  you  plait  up  your  hair  the  day  I  ran  away, 
Eliza.''"  were  her  first  words,  as  she  sat  upon  the 
edge  of  her  nurse's  bed,  after  she  had  roused  her  by 
lightly  kissing  her  upon  the  forehead. 

"  Don't  tell  me  it's  you  come  back  !  "  cried  Eliza, 
joyfully  but  irrelevantly.     "It's  too  good  to  be  true." 

"You  knew  I  would  be  obliged  to  come  when  you 
sent  me  that  message."  Portia  had  flung  down  her 
hat ;  her  chestnut  hair  was  ruffled  into  softest  disor- 
der, and  her  face  was  pale  with  the  mingled  effects 
of  her  night  journey  and  the  excitement  of  her 
home-coming.  "Poor,  poor  Mary!  is  it  as  bad  as 
you  thought.'' " 


28o  THE  PENAA'CE  OE  PORT/ A  JAMES. 

"  It's  very  bad,  my  dear, "  Eliza  made  reply,  sitting 
up  in  bed  and  looking  gravely  at  her  ;  "but  it  hadn't 
ought  to  have  been  any  business  of  yours.  Such 
goings  on  I  never  saw  in  my  life  !  Tliat  Mary  Willet 
doesn't  know  what  shame  means  ;  and  her  family  so 
respectable,  too  !  But  there,  you  was  always  too 
good-hearted.  Don't  I  remember  when  you  used  to 
cry  fit  to  break  your  heart  every  time  they  were  going 
to  stick  a  pig  at  the  station  !  " 

"Oh!  never  mind  about  the  pig;  tell  me  about 
Mary.  When  did  she  send  for  me.''  Where  is  she? 
How  did  it  happen  .'     Who  says  she  can't  live .?  " 

"Miss,  I  can't  tell  you  everything  all  in  a  minute. 
I  only  know  this  much  :  a  woman  came  round  here 
from  Mary  Willet's  lodgings  yesterday,  just  as  I  was 
setting  out  the  flowers  for  lunch.  'Mrs.  Morris' — 
that's  the  name  the  hussy  gave  herself — 'Mrs.  Morris 
has  been  ru]i  over, '  she  says,  '  and  she  can't  die  easy, 
she  says,  without  Miss  James  goes  to  see  her. '  Mr. 
James,  he  said  I  was  to  telegraph  straight  off  to  the 
place  where  I  used  for  to  send  your  letters  ;  and  its  just 
a  chance  they  called  for  the  telegram  and  sent  it  off 
to  you  so  soon,  though  I  expect  you  weren't  very  far 
off,  if  the  truth  were  known." 

"Far  enough  to  take  ten  hours  to  get  back.  But  I 
must  go  to  Mary  at  once  !  "  cried  Portia,  springing 
from  the  bed.  "  She  is  expected  to  die,  you  say,  and 
here  I  sit  doing  nothing  at  all.     I  won't  disturb  the 


THE  PENANCE  OF  rORTIA  JAMES.  281 

others  now.     Give  me  her  address,  quick,  and  let  nic 

She  had  been  plunging  a  towel  into  the  water-jug 
as  she  spoke,  and  now  passed  it  rapidly  over  her 
face.  Her  hat  and  veil  were  on  in  an  instant.  "The 
address,  Eliza  !  "  she  repeated  impatiently. 

"They've  been  and  changed  you,  my  dear!"  said 
the  nurse,  dolefully.  "  You're  tliat  headstrong,  one 
'ud  never  dream  you  was  the  same.  Oh,  the  address  !  " 
— for  Portia  was  stamping  her  foot  with  impatience — 
"it's  Latimer  Road  somewhere — let  me  see — I  put  it 
into  my  purse.  But  wherever  has  my  purse  got  to.^ 
I  thought  I  had  it  under  my  pillow,  but  you  put 
everything  out  of  my  head,  being  so  impatient.  Stay, 
though  ;  I  remember  now — it's  92  a  or  b  :  I  can't 
remember  which,  but  92  I'll  swear  to.  I  couldn't 
forget  it,  'cause  'twas  the  number  of  my  cabin  on  the 
Ismail.  But  won't  you  just  give  me  time  to  get  up 
and  go  along  with  you  .?  I  don't  like  to  trust  you  out 
o'  my  sight  any  more,  my  dear  !  " 

"I'll  send  for  you  if  I  want  you.  Don't  keep  me 
now,  Eliza  dear  ;  and  tell  them  all — Emma  and  Wil- 
mer,  I  mean — that  I  shall  be  back  soon." 

Precipitate  departures  seemed  to  enter  now  into  the 
normal  order  of  events  in  Portia's  life.  The  tale  told 
by  the  unfrocked  footman  would  have  received  no 
credence  had  it  not  been  for  the  presence  in  the  hall 
of  the  valise  and  saddle-bag,  which  (failing  a  gentle- 


282  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

nian-hclp)  it  \v;is  iu)l)c)U}-'s  business  to  carry  upstairs 
at  this  unseemly  hour.  The  owner  of  thcni  had  de- 
parted, and,  judging-  by  the  manner  of  her  former 
disappearance,  there  was  no  saying  when  she 
would  return.  As  she  left  the. house,  Portia  realised 
that  here,  too,  all  was  changed,  and  that  the  old, 
happy,  unthinking  existence  she  had  led  in  it  was  a 
thing  of  the  past.  Even  if  John  should  pass  out  of 
her  life  forever,  things  could  never  be  the  same 
again.  But  would  he  pass  out  of  it  .-*  As  far  as  prac- 
tical results  went,  her  flight  to  Paris  had  been  little 
better  than  the  famous  expedition  of  the  King  of  Spain 
who  went  up  a  hill  and  then  came  down  again. 
She  had  run  away  irresolute,  and  irresolute  she  re- 
turned. But  meanwhile  this,  at  least,  had  been 
gained,  that  John's  sin  had  found  him  out. 

It  was  only  seven  o'clock  still,  and  Portia  had 
many  steps  to  walk  before  she  encountered  a  cab. 
In  Paris  at  this  hour  all  the  world  was  astir.  This  was 
Anna's  sweeping  morning,  and  Portia  could  picture 
her  with  the  towel  pinned  square  over  her  swarthy 
brow,  looking  like  the  last  of  the  Pharaohs,  as  she 
sternly  wielded  her  broom.  The  cab  stopped  at  the 
door  of  a  trim-looking  house,  with  a  pathway  in 
white  flagstones  leading  through  the  little  front 
garden.  A  bare-armed  maid  was  "  hearthstoning  " 
the  flags  on  her  knees.  The  blinds  were  up  upon 
the  first  storey,  whence  Portia  concluded,  before  she 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  283 

descended  from  the  cab,  that  the  worst  was  not  yet 
to  be  feared.  She  ran  up  the  steps,  overcome  by 
the  sick,  half-sinking  sensation  that  the  apprehension 
of  bodily  suffering  to  ourselves  or  to  others  is  wont  to 
bring  with  it.  The  bare-armed  maid  had  silently 
pushed  open  the  front  door  (standing  ajar)  for  her  to 
enter,  and,  in  answer  to  the  trembling  inquiry,  "  Mrs. 
Morris  ?  "  was  about  to  lead  her  through  the  short 
entrance-hall,  and  up  the  staircase  at  the  farther  end, 
when  a  man's  form  was  seen  descending  the  stairs. 
Portia  shrank  back  with  a  gesture  of  dismay.  The 
man  was  John  :  he  had  recognised  her,  and  was 
coming  down  the  stairs  to  meet  her. 

Situations  that  we  picture  to  ourselves  as  neces- 
sarily impressive  and  tragic  are  often  very  tame  and 
trite  in  real  life.  It  is  the  feeling  which  accompanies 
them,  not  the  words  that  are  uttered,  which  gives 
them  their  true  significance.  That  is  why  the  com- 
monplace phrases  that  Ibsen  puts  into  the  mouths  of 
his  characters,  at  the  moment  when  they  perform  their 
most  tragic  deeds,  lend  such  ghastly  reality  to  his 
dramas.  The  step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous 
is  stumbled  across  most  easily  when  our  nerves  are 
most  highly  strung.  The  slippers  of  Hedda  Gabler's 
husband  thrust  themselves  in  some  form  or  another 
upon  all  our  most  dramatic  experiences. 

Portia  shrank  back  as  John  came  towards  her.  She 
was  totally  unprepared  for  such  a  meeting.     She  had 


284  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

fancied  that  her  only  sensation  upon  encountering 
her  husband  again  would  be  one  of  righteous  indigna- 
tion ;  but  as  he  came  towards  her  now  she  was  over- 
come by  a  sense  of  guiltiness  on  her  own  account 
that  placed  her  at  a  manifest  disadvantage.  What  if 
he  were  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp — if, 
instead  of  waiting  to  be  upbraided,  he  were  to  begin 
by  upbraiding  her.  He  was  armed  with  undeniable 
authority  ;  he  had  power,  if  he  chose,  to  call  her  to 
account  for  her  desertion  of  him.  In  any  case,  he 
might  |6dge  that  it  would  have  been  her  duty  to  hear 
what  he,  as  well  as  Mary,  had  to  say  before  she  ran 
away  from  him.  She  was  touched,  in  spite  of  herself, 
to  note  how  his  trouble  had  told  upon  him  physically. 
She  could  not  have  believed  that  he  could  have 
changed  so  much  within  a  week.  There  were  traces 
of  many  a  sleepless  night,  of  many  a  baffled  quest, 
of  many  a  heartsick  longing  written  in  his  face.  He 
had  turned  pale  as  he  saw  her  (and  the  effect  was 
the  more  startling  that  his  hue  was  so  rubicund  under 
its  normal  aspect),  but  his  eyes  had  a  sterner  expres- 
sion than  she  had  ever  seen  in  them  before.  In  vain 
she  raised  her  head  with  a  half-defiant  gesture.  De- 
spite her  certitude  that  she  had  had  the  best  of  war- 
rants for  running  away,  she  felt  and  looked  liked  a 
culprit. 

The  unexpectedness  of  his  attitude  disconcerted 
her.     John  in  his  letters  and  John  in  the  flesh  seemed 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  285 

to  be  no  longer  one  and  the  same  person.  Judging 
by  his  written  appeal,  which  she  had  not  answered, 
she  had  expected  to  find  him  welhiigh  crushed  to  the 
earth  under  the  weight  of  his  remorseful  misery. 
Meeting  him  face  to  face,  he  looked  more  like  a  severe 
judge  than  a  penitent  evil-doer.  "  He  thinks  he  has 
me  quite  in  his  power  now,"  Portia  said  to  herself; 
but  it.was  not  a  favourable  moment  for  proving  the 
contrary.  The  bare-armed  maid  had  retreated  to 
her  hearthstoning,  Uttle  dreaming  that  the  lady  and 
gentleman  who  had  stared  at  each  other  in  the  hall 
were  husband  and  wife ;  but  close  behind  John 
a  person  was  descending  the  stairs,  whom  Portia 
divined  to  be  the  doctor.  In  addition  to  the  sedately 
professional  air  that  a  medical  man  puts  on  almost 
unconsciously  with  the  coat  in  which  he  makes  his 
morning  rounds,  there  was  a  solemnity  in  his  demea- 
nour that  spoke  of  a  serious  case.  Portia  had  made 
a  little  movement  forward  as  John  descended  the 
last  step  of  the  stairs.  Neither  she  nor  her  husband 
had  extended  a  welcoming  hand  to  each  other. 

' '  I  have  come  to  see  Mary, "  Portia  said  in  strangled 
tones.  Never  since  her  childhood  had  she  been  so 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  an  aching  lump  in  her 
throat.      "She  sent  for  me.     Can  I  go  to  her  now  !  " 

"You  had  better  speak  to  the  doctor,"  replied  John, 
briefly.  His  wife  did  not  see  the  yearning  in  his 
eyes  as  she  turned  away  from  him. 


286  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

She  waylaid  the  doctor  as  he  passed  through  the 
hall,  and  appealed  to  him  in  trembling  anxiety  : 

"Is  Mary  Willet — Mrs.  Morris,"  she  stammered — 
"is  the  person  who  had  the  accident  able  to  see  me? 
Do  please  tell  me.      Is  she  very  dangerously  hurt  ?  " 

"Are  you  a  friend  of  hers?"  the  doctor  asked 
gently. 

"Yes,"  replied  Portia,  firmly  ;  "but  I  kno^y  she 
was  not  expected  to  live  yesterday.  Is  there  any 
hope  of  saving  her  now  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid — none.  The  wonder  is  that  she 
should  be  alivd  still.  You  know  how  the  accident 
happened,  I  suppose  ?  No?  She  slipped  in  the  street 
yesterday  with  her  child  ;  a  cart  was  going  by  at  the 
moment.  She  managed  to  save  the  child,  but  the 
wheel  came  into  contact  with  her  neck,  which  was 
fatally  injured.  It  is  indeed  wonderful  that  she  has 
not  succumbed  to  it  already.  She  is  conscious  and 
coherent  still.  Everything  that  could  be  done  has 
been  done  for  her.  I  shall  be  back  again  myself 
directly — but  there  is  no  possibility  of  saving  her." 

He  bowed  and  left  her.  Portia  turned  helplessly 
round,  intimating  by  a  gesture  to  her  husband  that 
she  desired  to  be  taken  to  Mary's  room.  John  pre- 
ceded her  up  the  staircase  without  a  word,  and  passed 
uninvited  after  her  into  the  chamber  of  death,  of 
which  the  door  opening  on  to  a  narrow  landing  was 
only  partially  closed.      The  blind  was  up,  and  as  Per- 


THE  PE. VANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  287 

tia  entered  the  room  she  became  aware,  like  the  Phy- 
sician in  Andersen's  tales,  that  Death  was  seated  at 
the  head  of  the  bed.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  stood  in  his  mighty  presence,  but  her  feeling 
was  more  of  awe  than  of  fear. 

Mary's  throat  was  covered  with  bandages.  But 
the  haunting  Madonna  eyes,  set  in  a  face  of  most 
ghastly  pallor,  looked  up  from  the  pillow  as  Portia 
entered.  The  dark  hair  was  tumbled  and  towsled. 
The  left  arm  was  lying  on  the  counterpane,  and  the 
hand,  with  the  mark  of  dark  needle-pricks  on  the  fore- 
finger, clutched  tightly  at  the  flannel  gown  of  the  sol- 
emn-faced baby,  sitting  up  baby-wise  with  wagging 
head,  by  her  side.  The  sight  wrung  Portia's  heart. 
Mary's  eyes,  shining  already  with  the  strange,  flicker- 
ing light  of  a  lamp  that  is  nearly  spent,  were  seeking 
hers,  and  she  could  read  the  supreme  appeal  that  was 
written  in  them.  She  walked  softly  to  the  bedside, 
and,  with  her  husband's  eyes  directed  towards  her 
every  movement,  stooped  over  the  pillow  of  the 
dying  woman  and  kissed  her  tenderly  on  the  forehead. 
There  was  unspeakable  longing  in  Mary's  gaze. 
Her  lips  moved  but  no  sound  issued  from  them. 
Portia  was  fain  to  bend  low  to  catch  the  almost  inau- 
dible words,  of  which  the  utterance  was  every  mo- 
ment arrested  by  a  hoarse,  unnatural  wheeze,  like 
that  of  a  child  with  the  croup.  But  the  movement  of 
the  speaker's  head  in  the  direction  of  the  child,  and  the 


288  THE  PENANCE  OF  I'ORTIA  JAMES. 

feeble  attempt  to  draw  it  closer  to  her  side,  made 
clear  much  that  was  left  unsaid. 

"My  httle  one,  Miss."  The  hoarse  whisper 
seemed  to  drive  through  Portia's  brain  and  to  pene- 
trate to  her  very  heart.  "Please  take  him— bring 
him  up.  ••  There  was  a  gasping  intensity  in  the  spas- 
modically uttered  words  that  rendered  them  doubly 
impressive.  "His  father-too-"  hoarse  wheezing 
choked  her  utterance. 

Portia  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  encircled  the  child 
with  her  arm.  "  Mary— poor  Mary,"  she  said  piti- 
fully, and  there  were  tears  in  her  voice,  "he  shall  be 
safe  with  me— he  shall  indeed.  I  promise  you— I 
wnll  keep  him  always,  Mary  dear— I  will  tell  him 
about  you — and — and — is  there  nothing  T  can  do  for 
you  now  1  I  am  afraid  you  are  in  great  pain."  For 
at  this  moment  a  spasm  of  agony,  the  strain  of 
catching  at  her  fast  departing  breath,  was  contracting 
the  dying  woman's  face.  But  Mary's  message  was 
not  all  spoken.  The  final  mission  of  the  pictured 
Madonna  had  still  to  be  accomplished  upon  earth. 
With  the  dews  of  death  gathering  upon  her  forehead, 
she  turned  her  gaze  towards  her  rival's  husband,  to- 
wards the  man  who  had  betrayed  her,  standing  silent 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  petitioned  him  mutely  to 
come  closer  to  her.  As  he  approached  the  bedside, 
she  reached  out  feeble  fingers  for  his  hand,  and  placed 
it  upon  his  child's  head.     Before  he  could  withdraw 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORT/A  JAMES.  289 

it,  she  had  clutched  at,  Portia's  hand,  and  now  es- 
sayed to  unite  it  with  John's  in  her  dying  clasp.  At 
this  moment  Portia's  fate  might  be  said  to  tremble  in 
the  balance.  She  struggled  to  free  herself,  and  had 
she  obeyed  the  first  strong  impulse  all  her  life's  history 
might  have  been  changed.  But  John's  hand  had  al- 
ready closed  around  hers,  and  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
in  protest  to  his  face  she  saw  something  written  there 
that  forbade  her  to  draw  it  away.  Thinking  over  the 
scene  afterwards,  she  wondered  how  it  was  that  she 
had  come  to  capitulate  so  promptly  and  so  entirely. 
"Was  it  because  she  deemed  that  her  husband  had 
been  punished  enough }  Was  her  heart  melted  by 
the  evidence  of  the  mental  suffering  he  had  endured, 
by  the  traces  of  hope-deferred  heart-sickness,  of 
wounded  affection,  of  yearning  tenderness  she  could 
read  in  his  eyes  .?  Was  it  simply  that  she  felt  once 
more  as  she  had  felt  on  her  wedding  morning-— 
"  Who  shall  shut  out  fate  ?"  and  that  she  recognised 
the  futility  of  struggling  against  her  destiny.?  Or  did 
it  occur  to  her  that  if  she  had  thought  (not  only  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  but  when  the  eleventh  hour  was  past 
that  she  might  still  escape  her  fate  by  espousing 
Mary's  cause,  the  pretext  was  unavailing  now,  since 
it  was  Mary  herself  who  had  forced  her  to  return,  and 
Mary's  hand,  already  clammy  with  death,  that  was 
riveting  her  to  her  husband  with  a  force  stronger 
than  that  of  the  grave .?     Was  she  impelled  to  act  as 

»9 


290  THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES. 

she  did  by  her  sense  of  the  sacrcdncss  of  the  charge 
she  had  undertaken  ?  Did  Mary's  child  forge  the 
chain  that  must  bind  her  henceforth  to  John  ?  Was  it 
that  her  short  insight  into  Anna's  Hfe  had  been  a  dis- 
ilhision,  and  that  she  was  afraid  of  launching,  as  Anna 
had  done,  upon  a  rudderless  existence?  Did  the 
recollection  of  Harry's  advice  to  her  to  return,  given 
with  the  full  knowledge  that  he  ran  the  risk  of  losing 
her  for  ever,  influence  her  decision  ?  Was  she  moved 
by  the  sudden  impulse  to  immolate  herself  that  has 
converted  so  many  women  into  nuns  and  nursing 
sisters  ?  Was  she  tired  out  by  her  night  journey  and 
her  emotion,  and  unable  to  form  a  resolution  ?  Was  it 
apathy,  was  it  pique,  was  it  pity,  was  it  rcwakening 
love,  or  was  it  a  mixture  of  all  these  together  that 
swayed  her  !  Whatever  might  have  been  the  motive 
(and  even  to  herself  it  was  never  clear),  the  fact  re- 
mained that  she  allowed  her  hand  to  lie  in  John's 
grasp.  Mary's  agony  was  mercifully  short,  but  before 
her  eyes  rolled  upwards  in  death  they  were  irradiated 
by  a  light  that  spoke  more  eloquently  than  any  words 
of  a  soul  that  departed  in  peace.  Her  work  was 
done,  her  mission  accomplished.  Her  child  would  be 
the  gainer  by  her  death,  and  for  herself  the  sleep  that 
knows  no  awakening  was  a  boon. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morrisson  walked 
back  to  breakfast  at  Kensington  arm  in  arm. 
Wilmer  and  ICmma  welcomed  them  as  naturally  as 


THE  PENANCE  OF  PORTIA  JAMES.  201 

though  they  had  just  returned  from  the  conventional 
honeymoon  trip  they  had  contemplated.  Three 
months  afterwards,  upon  an  afternoon  of  November 
fog  that  had  no  crimson  sunbeams  captive  this  time, 
the  whole  party  stood  upon  the  hurricane  deck  of  a 
huge  Orient  liner  in  the  docks  upon  the  eve  of  a 
separation.  The  bride  and  bridegroom  were  leaving 
for  Australia.  A  stout  lady,  easily  recognisable  as 
Mrs.  James,  wearing  a  huge  mantle  entirely  com- 
posed of  the  minute  and  costly  furs  of  the  Australian 
duck-billed  platypus,  was  holding  two  embroidered 
handkerchiefs  in  readiness — one  for  wetting,  the 
other  for  waiving.  The  young  married  lady  of  the 
party,  clad  in  a  becoming  sea-going  suit  of  tweed, 
was  dividing  her  attentions  between  the  stout  lady 
with  the  handkerchiefs,  and  a  solemn-looking  infant 
seated  upon  its  nurse's  arm. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  too  cold  for  him  on  deck, 
Emma .?  "  she  said  anxiously.  "  I'll  just  show  Eliza 
the  cabin  next  to  ours  that  we've  taken  for  him. 
I'll  be  back  again  directly." 

She  hurried  below,  followed  by  the  maid  with  the 
child,  but  after  installing  them  in  the  cabin  in  ques- 
tion was  stopped  on  her  way  through  the  splendid 
dining-saloon  by  a  gentleman  crossing  it  from  the 
opposite  end.  The  fast-gathering  fog,  of  a  dingy 
brown-ochre  hue,  prevented  her  from  seeing  him 
until  he  was  quite  close  to  her.  Then  she  recognised 
Harry  Tolhurst. 


292  THE  PENANCE  OF  rORTIA  JAMES. 

"I  thought  I  might  be  allowed  just  to  come  and 
wish  you  god-speed,  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 
He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  day  when  he  had 
urged  her  at  all  costs  to  return  to  London.  "I  know 
what  you  have  done,  and  I  trust  you  have  your 
reward.  If  I  could  only  hear  you  say — before  I  wish 
you  good-bye  for  ever — that  you  have  found  it 
already  !  "  Tears  started  into  Portia's  eyes.  She 
tried  her  utmost  not  to  let  them  fall.  "  Do  you 
remember  what  you  said,"  she  whispered,  "about 
climbing  the  steep  and  thorny  path  to  Heaven .? 
But  then,  _yo«  are  sure  at  least  that  it  does  lead  to 

Heaven But  see.''"     Her  voice  changed,  and  its 

tone  became  placid  and  conventional.  "  Here  is 
my  husband.  Let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Tol- 
hurst,  John. ''  There  was  little  time  for  conversation. 
Harry  felt  that  it  would  not  be  fitting  for  him  to  in- 
trude upon  the  farewell  effusions  of  the  bride  and  her 
relatives.  His  last  vision  of  Portia  was  standing  by 
her  husband's  side  close  to  the  bulwarks,  bravely 
trying  to  smile,  as  the  vessel  moved  from  the  docks. 
The  fog  was  not  so  thick  but  that  he  could  see  the 
moisture  shining  in  her  eyes  at  the  same  instant.  It 
was  in  just  such  an  atmosphere  that  she  had  passed 
out  of  his  sight  a  few  months  ago,  after  their  joyous 
meeting  at  the  Academy.  But  the  fog  had  been 
rose-stained  then,  and  there  had  been  hope  in  his 
heart.     It  was   mud-coloured  to-day,  and  the  hope 


THE  PENANCE  OF  FOKT/A  JAMES.         293 

was  crushed  and  dead.  If  he  could  have  put  on  the 
Town  Councillor's  magic  shoes  that  Hans  Andersen 
writes  about,  if  he  could  have  gone  back  to  the  day 
when  he  had  sat  with  Portia  under  the  shadow  of  the 
stone  queen  in  the  Luxembourg  Gardens,  would  he 
have  given  her  the  same  advice  as  he  had  given  her 
then  ?  Would  he  have  upheld  the  selfsame  standard, 
and  essayed,  as  he  had  also  done,  to  act  up  to  it 
himself?  He  tried  to  think  that  he  had  answered 
both  these  questions  in  the  affirmative  as  he  went 
back  to  his  self-imposed  career  of  work  and  solitude. 


THE    END. 


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